Poisoned Amaryllis
by kigamin
Summary: At nineteen, Hana has figured out one thing about herself: she is unlucky. The new case submitted to her merely confirms that truth, digging up some nasty memories she would rather forget. And yet, when she meets Killua, a charming and intriguing young man, she feels like, just for once, her luck might have turned. [KilluaOC] [cover by the lovely jyuanka]
1. Prologue: Into The Void

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hunter x Hunter, its characters, and its plot. Those are the property of Yoshihiro Togashi. I do however own **all my OCs** , all the places I have created and the concepts I have come up with.

* * *

Prologue **: Into the Void**

* * *

She opened her eyes. Slowly. Her sight clouded, her eyelids heavy, twitching. Out of breath and drenched in sweat. She was lying on the floor, flat on her belly. Her whole body hurt. Her skin prickled as if a thousand ants were marching all over her body. A headache throbbed in her ears. Her temples were pounding, her ears ringing, until they slowly deafened. She tried to move a hand, but her movements were disarticulated, her thoughts uncoordinated. Her mind empty. Foggy. Confused.

A warm string of blood trickled on her face. She painfully craned her neck, scanning her surroundings.

 _Where…?_

She was in a dark room. With broken furniture scattered along the walls, as though something had exploded in the middle and shoved everything to the sides. Shattered pieces of wood pierced her skin. Torn sheets were spilled on the floor. She breathed in dust, wood, the acidic smell of sweat. And blood. Everywhere, blood.

As her chest heaved, hard and heavy, she gritted her teeth and propped herself on her elbows. A sharp pain in her side screamed. She winced. Reached for the burning sensation.

 _Blood_.

She was wounded. Bleeding.

What had happened? Where was she? She _knew_ she was supposed to do something important. Questions popped into her mind, but the answers were so slow to come. Dancing around in her mind, taunting her, but running away when she tried to grasp them.

She clenched her teeth, her hazy head weighing tons. She tried to look around, saw a dark figure lying on the floor, immobile. Distinguished legs and hands.

 _Who…?_

Something moved on the other side of the room, swift and quiet. She froze. Listened. Caught signs of breathing. Clothes ruffling. Pieces of glass clinking as someone pushed them away. She tried to find the source of the noise, a panicked prey searching for a predator in the dim flickering light. Tried to silence her wheezing breath. Until she saw _him_.

A tall, lean form in a dark coat. Olive skin peeking through his sleeves. A balaclava barely showing his eyes.

And everything rushed back to her.

The mission. They were on a mission. She and her friend. They were chasing a man. They had tried to ambush him. Then, the explosion. The trap. The blackout.

The man had survived.

 _But what about her friend?_

Her heart missed a beat. All the elements linked together. The thick smell of blood. The figure lying on the floor. The man on the other side of the room, still standing while she was crushed to the floor.

 _They had failed._

She hastily started crawling toward the figure on the floor. Toward _her friend_. Fueled by fear and despair. Ignoring her lungs that screamed for air, her heartbeats that hammered against her chest, her wounds that begged and screamed and pulsated. A broken thing swimming against the tide. Sliced apart, sobbing, miserable.

Terror increased with every centimeter closer to him. And so did the scent of blood. Coppery and rusty. The more she crawled, the more she realized how hopeless the situation was. She was wounded, unable to defend herself. Didn't know if her friend was safe. Had failed to stop their enemy.

And _he_ was in a better shape than them.

She pushed her body to its limits, dragging her wounded body with her. Suffocating with pain. Gasping for air. Quivering with fear. Clawing at the ground. Each second was stamped on her as a second too late. Each pathetic lurch on the ground, each time her chest hit the floor and her fists trembled and her knees scratched the concrete.

How ironical was it that she, the hunter, had become the prey?

With a last effort, a last painful lurch on the ground, she reached the immobile body on the floor. Her friend.

Her hand landed in a pool of blood. Thick. Gross. Still warm.

She widened her eyes, dizzy. Used all her strengths to kneel. Focused all her balance in her legs. Wobbled. Like a broken toy.

And then, as the light flickered above her, she saw it.

The void in his chest. Hollow where his heart should be.

Shock hit her like a tidal wave. Shaking her, drowning her, flooding her with emotions. Bile rose in her throat. Her stomach churned, twisted and turned. She felt like throwing up. Her head was spinning. She was panting. She was _suffocating_.

Her frantic eyes coursed all over him. She caught glimpses of his face frozen in death, of the fear forever carved in his features, of the tears and the wrinkles and the tension. She whispered, whimpered, repeatedly, " _no, no please_ ," her voice cracking and dying each time.

It couldn't be.

 _It couldn't be._

The other man started walking. Toward her.

But she didn't hear him. She heard nothing. Nothing but her own cries. Irregular, breathy cries. Rocking back between consciousness and dizziness.

 _Dead. He was dead._

She was unable to process the information. Unable to accept it. It stuck to her, refused to let go, like flies on a cadaver. She hadn't been trained for that. She hadn't been trained to see her friends cold and dead, bathing in their own blood. She hadn't been trained to learn how to live with that. With the knowledge that her friend had died on her.

And that it was her fault.

The guilt. The ugly, capricious guilt. It already prowled, waited. Patiently. It had all time. It could wait forever. As long as she'd be alive, it would wait. Nudge. Poke. Bite. Snicker and hide and claw at her.

She saw it. Gleaming in his dead eyes with silent reproaches.

She couldn't take it. Couldn't take it anymore.

But the man now towered over her. Still.

She stared at him. Half-conscious.

Tried to process his presence.

Barely seeing him.

He moved.

A hand.

 _And—_

* * *

She was unable to describe what had happened next. Not that she had forgotten –she could never forget. But she couldn't exactly _say_ what had happened next. All she could see was a monochrome, shivering picture. Uncertain figures, faces and places. A blur. A scream. A _perpetual_ scream.

And the hand. Moving toward her, slowly. An opened palm with a tattoo that peeked through a burnt glove. A black flower with diaphanous petals and long stamens that curled like tendrils.

But she remembered what she had _felt_. The agony tearing her apart. Twisting her entrails, firing up her whole body. Seeping through every pore. Blinding her. Breaking her. A riot had awakened within her and she was crushed under its rage. Crippled with pain and helplessness and fear and guilt. With shame, anger, distress.

She remembered how insignificant her own life had appeared then. How fragile it was, this big thing called life hanging by a tiny string above the void. Just a skip, a split second, a slight disruption, and the string would break and life would disappear into the void.

That was the best she could do to put words on what had happened.

She had stared into the void.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hi there! Thank you so much for giving this story a chance! I hope you enjoyed the prologue, and hopefully you will choose to keep reading this story. I've been working on it for so long and, to be fair with you, I'm a bit nervous about publishing it… but here I am!

Before I give you some technical details about the story (that I encourage you to read, just in case you realize this story isn't for you), **I would like to thank all the people who've supported me while I worked on the story.** I can't give you names because I was blessed with a lot of friends who believed in me and pushed me forward when I doubted I could make it, but I can tell you that without them, I wouldn't be there. **So thank you, thank you, thank you**. I've been through a lot and without your support, I wouldn't have managed to keep writing.

There is, however, one person I would like to mention, because, without her, both this story and the _person_ that I am wouldn't here today. So, **special thanks to my most awesome beta BakaNyu** , the best beta and the best _friend_ I could ever hope for, who never fails to make me laugh when I feel bad and punches all the bad guys for me. Merci mon cœur, tu peux pas savoir comme je t'aime et comme je suis heureuse d'être ton amie. (Imagine des cœurs là, ici, tout partout, et des bisous aussi !)

Now, I'm going to give you **some information about the story** that I think is worth noting.

First of all, as you may have noticed, the story… can get pretty bloody. Of course, there is nothing that should shock you more than the Chimera Ants arc, so you may think this warning is useless, but just in case… **There will be blood**. Here, I said it.

 **There will also be mature content (yeah, sex) later in the story**. Nothing explicit per se, but sex nonetheless (I mean, I am writing a romance between two sexually active young adults, so…). Some of my friends have read the mature-ish scenes for me, and they told me the content was suitable for sixteen-year-olds and above. Nonetheless, if you wish me to do so, I will put a warning in the A/N when mature content comes up, for readers who would prefer skipping the sex scenes.

And well, while we're at it, I love crude jokes, so… expect a lot of those.

Technically speaking, the chapters are a lot longer than the prologue. I try to stay within 10k words but I don't always stay within those bounds. **I've also written 10 chapters so far,** and **I plan to update every two weeks or so** , to give myself some time to write the latest chapters. I may change this schedule if I feel like I need more time.

Okay, here we go, I think I've said everything **. Don't hesitate to contact me if you have any question** , either by PM here or on my tumblr (I'm kigamin there). You can also check my story's tumblr, **poisonedamaryllis** on tumblr, where you'll find excerpts from the future chapters, drawings made for the story (including amazing fanart), questions I've answered, text posts, and a bunch of things I reblog for fun.

Last but not least **, I'd love to hear your thoughts about the prologue**! Reviews are more than welcome, guest reviews too, and I'm always happy to read your comments! Chances are I will think about them for three days on non-stop.

Thanks again for your attention, and sorry for the super long A/N, I promise the next A/N will be a lot shorter (and the chapters a lot longer too).

See you next chapter!


	2. The Intruder

**A/N:** Hey there! Oh God, I still can't believe I'm publishing the first chapter. It's like I'm not realizing what's happening.

As you may have noticed, I'm publishing the first chapter a bit early because, as I discussed with my bestie, the prologue was short, so it would be too long to wait two weeks to publish the first chapter. So here you go!

Before I start, I would like to thank you all for the amazing feedback I got! I was so hyped the whole week because of your reviews, your notifications, your messages of encouragement and your reactions. I can't thank you enough. You make me feel like all the work I put in this fic was worth it, and it's the best kind of feeling. So thank you so much! I love you all.

(Oh, also, the story's cover is a drawing I made, but I don't know if it appears correctly on the website)

Anyway, on to the chapter!

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Chapter 1: **The intruder**

* * *

 **From:** Maya Maple

 **To:** Hanaiko Torana

 **Sent:** March 10th, 10:24 A.M.

 **Subject:** Crime investigation request

Dear Miss Torana,

I am writing to you in regards to an issue that I would like to share with you.

Two weeks ago, my brother committed suicide. None of his closed ones saw it coming – even though he was very open about his feelings and always talked to me when he had issues. We were very close and could practically read into each other. He was surrounded by great people, led a healthy life and had never shown any sign of suicidal behavior. That is why, his death shocked all of his relatives –including me.

The police have investigated his death, but they quickly gave up on the investigation, since the cause of his death seemed clear. The autopsy couldn't find any sign of aggression either. However, you may have guessed that I am very skeptic. I have a feeling –a very strong one– that something is off. I have so many questions left unanswered about my brother's death and I have grown restless.

That is why I would like to give the case to you. I believe in your skills and your aptitude to answer at least some of my questions. To either find out if indeed my brother was hiding his issues from us, or if, as I feel it, his suicide is something entirely else.

I unfortunately only have a few documents the police have written, but I will gladly send them to you if you accept. Obviously, I will let you decide on the price, too.

I am aware this might not be the type of cases you accept, and I will understand if you refuse to work on it.

Thank you very much for your time.

Sincerely yours,

Maya Maple  
Secretary at the HCDS  
17, Netero Street,  
Megamshill City.  
Tel: (+93)134-537-778-893

* * *

 **From:** Hanaiko Torana

 **To:** Maya Maple

 **Sent:** March 10th, 11:37 P.M.

 **Subject:** Re: Crime investigation request

Dear Miss Maple,

First of all, I am really sorry about your loss. I understand your grief and your frustration –as well as your confusion. There is nothing wrong with submitting this request to me either. As long as the request includes some kind of investigation, it is relevant to my activities.

I would gladly accept to work for you. However, I will need more information about the case to take a decision. Could you send me the information you have? I would like to carefully study it. I may or may not be able to find more information than the police, but eventually, I hope to, at least, help you achieve some peace of mind.

About the price, I am unable to tell you how much the investigation will cost, at the moment. It is impossible to predict how far the search could go. The price may quickly increase if the case proves to be complicated. Also, while I have the policy to work as fast as possible, I am handling many cases at once and it may take time to solve it.

I am looking forward to your reply.

Sincerely yours,

Hanaiko Torana.

* * *

 **From:** Maya Maple

 **To:** Hanaiko Torana

 **Sent:** March 11th, 9:43 A.M.

 **Subject:** Re: Crime investigation request

 **Enclosed files:** Maple_Case (archive files)

Dear Miss Torana,

I am infinitely grateful for your concern. I am sending all the information I have so far about the case –including reports of law enforcement investigation, my requests and exchanges with the detective formerly working on the case, witness reports, and the detective's personal search.

I completely understand. I entirely trust you and how you manage your work.

I remain at your disposal for any question or any request. Feel free to call me –my professional phone number is included in my mail. You can also call me at the 189-765-545-789 –my personal phone number.

Sincerely yours,

Maya Maple  
Secretary at the HCDS  
17, Netero Street,  
Megamshill City.  
Tel: (+93)134-537-778-893

* * *

 **From:** Hanaiko Torana

 **To:** Maya Maple

 **Sent:** March 11th, 10:32 P.M.

 **Subject:** Re: Crime investigation request

Dear Miss Maple,

Thank you for sending the documents. I have started studying them.

I was thinking that we might need to plan an appointment –I believe it is always easier to communicate face to face. Would it be alright for you? If so, we could meet at the Delexo Hotel's lounge –it is open to everybody. I will let you decide on the day and hour and see if it fits into my schedule.

Sincerely yours,

Hanaiko Torana.

* * *

 **From:** Maya Maple

 **To:** Hanaiko Torana  
 **Sent:** March 12th, 9:05 A.M.

 **Subject:** Re: Appointment

Dear Miss Torana,

I also think an appointment would be a great idea. I have a day-off on the 17th. I will be holding my brother's memorial in the afternoon so I will only be available in the morning. Would it be alright around 9 A.M?

Sincerely yours,

Maya Maple  
Secretary at the HCDS  
17, Netero Street,  
Megamshill City.  
Tel: (+93)134-537-778-893

* * *

 **From:** Hanaiko Torana

 **To:** Maya Maple

 **Sent:** March 12th, 6:48 P.M.

 **Subject:** Re: Appointment

Dear Miss Maple,

That seems perfect.

I will be seeing you on the 17th at 9 A.M. then.

Sincerely yours,

Hanaiko Torana.

* * *

 **Tuesday, March 17** **th**

 **6:30 A.M.**

The pale light of her laptop cast shadows on her face, digging in the dark circles under her eyes. Her eyes quickly skimmed through a document, sometimes narrowing when she saw something that caught her attention, sometimes widening when something surprised her. Sometimes closing when they hurt from the blinding light in the dark.

She sighed and untucked her knee from under her chin as she stood up. She stretched, yawned and scrapped her scalp, combing her thick, straight hair to untangle the knots –or at least attempt to. She looked at the mirror of her dressing table, the warm tone of her greige hair looking dull in the dim light. She touched her dark circles and scoffed, feeling like they were an entire part of her at this point. And they were. Sort of. She couldn't remember the last time she had had a clear, smooth face, void of any dark circle and beauty spot. Perhaps when she was in middle school? In primary school?

…

No. Not even then. As far as she recalled, she had always had them. It wasn't even a matter of feeling tired or not –even when she felt pumped up, they were there. Almost tattooed on her face.

Perhaps she was born with them. A newborn with dark circles, on top of the floppy wrinkly pinkish skin. Already looking tired and drained and high on caffeine. Perhaps she had been tired in her mother's womb. Workaholic baby on the verge of burnout from swimming in amniotic fluid. Perhaps. Or it was her birthmark? Birthmark dark circles, wow. How practical.

An urban legend said that birthmarks showed the way people had died in a previous life. Would that mean that in her previous life she had had her eyes gouged out? Or an enemy knowing of this legend had slit crescent-shaped wounds beneath her eyes, screaming " _This is how I punish you! You will be reincarnated with permanent dark circles under your eyes!"_ and matching the evil announcement with an evil laughter before dramatically disappearing while a creepy soundtrack played in the background?

Her phone emitted a short bell sound and she flinched. She had just received an e-mail.

She took her laptop to the kitchen with her. She had spent five minutes debating about the origins of her dark circles.

Coffee. She needed coffee.

She put her laptop on the table and poured water in the boiler. Then, she checked the whiteboard on her fridge.

 **9 A.M.:** _Meeting with Maya Maple_ **  
** **1-6 P.M.:** _Follow Aleon._ **  
6 P.M.:** _Meeting at the police station (talk to Lynd)_ **  
7 P.M.:** _Shoot hoops (phew!)_

The water was boiling. She poured it into a mug, on the instant coffee and sat.

And sighed.

She had been doing that for three years. Accepting multiple private requests to investigate on disappearances, murders, thefts, trafficking. Building her reputation of freelance crime hunter thanks to her multitasking skills and incredible efficiency. Fueling her sleep-deprived body with coffee and sports. Skimming through documents and hacking databases and questioning people and calling and meeting and peeking into people's privacies for the sake of her activities.

She had seen so many secrets she wished she could un-see. She had seen that this famous Mobster had cheated on his wife ten years ago and had had a child with his mistress. That some corrupted actor had lied about his diploma in the Arts. That the owner of the chic, traditional, "authentic" Padokian five-star restaurant didn't actually come from Padokia as he had claimed. That half of this influent businesswoman's friends didn't like her and gossiped about her behind her back. And so, so many things she had discovered while hacking and spying for her missions.

That was her routine.

Her not-so-routine-like routine.

She took a sip of coffee and relished as the warmth spread in her throat. It was almost magical, how lighter her eyelids felt with each sip. It was weird, too, because she had read somewhere in one of her numerous magazines that coffee was almost ineffective until 9 A.M., and yet she couldn't start a day without it. She'd rather have a transfusion of coffee than choose to live a day without it. It was impossible. Unquestionable. Almost taboo.

She looked back at the whiteboard, studying the words.

She was currently juggling with four cases: the disappearance of Vincent Melchior, a man that nobody knew and who had no friends or family, requested by the police after no exploitable evidence was found. The tailing of Aleon Dove, a shady and rather disturbed fellow, requested by his ex-girlfriend he had dumped without any reason after showing menacing but confusing behavior. The fishy suicide of Maya Maple's brother, Maes Maple, requested by Maya herself. And, finally, the massive drug trafficking case requested by the police chief herself, her good friend Lynd, who was desperate to stop the trafficking, especially after suspecting that some of her officers were part of it.

Or well, put another way…

 _Hanaiko and the vanishing of Vincent Melchior. Hanaiko and the epic tailing of Aleon Dove. Hanaiko and the tragic suicide of Maes Maple. Hanaiko and the evil drug trafficking dismantlement._

Those could be cool movie titles, right? An epic series with an epic –and attractive – detective. The new Sherlock Holmes. A best-selling thriller series.

Of course, the four cases were very different. The ways to approach them were different, and so were the tools she would need to get in order to solve them and the people she'd have to meet up with –it would be no fun if it were easy, right?

She narrowed her eyes. Something was telling her those four cases were going to be quite tedious.

Which was precisely the reason why she was so eager to work on them.

She finished her coffee and put the mug in the sink. After checking her emails one last time –there were discounts in her favorite clothes shop – she went to her room and picked out clothes for her first meeting with Maya Maple. A white three-quarter-sleeved button-up she would tuck in her black flared skirt and black pumps. She usually liked adding more colors, but for a first meeting, she might as well try to look professional.

Those three years had taught her one good thing: appearance _did_ matter. Some people had questioned her abilities in the past when they saw she was just nineteen – " _I can't believe Max told me to hire a kid!_ " or pleasant remarks of the sort – but she noted they were less sensitive to her age when she covered it up with mature make-up and simple colors. That usually happened with people who had nothing to do with hunters and didn't know that phenomenal kids were quite the thing in the hunter world.

Maya Maple had surely seen her share of phenomenal kids since she worked at the HCDS. Genius kids weren't a scarce resource at the HCDS, the Hunter Crime Department Service that gathered the best crime hunters in the city of Megamshill. Hana's mother herself had been one of those geniuses when she became a professional crime hunter and one of the most promising HCDS agents at fourteen.

Hana smiled at the thought of her mother. She would call her once she was done with everything.

She checked the clock.

 **7:02 A.M.**

But not right now.

She had a lot to do.

* * *

Hana scanned the hotel hall, watching out for a young woman dressed in black. She was standing near the guest area, greeting people who walked by her with a smile.

She checked the clock above the receptionist desk.

 **9:04 A.M.**

Maya Maple would arrive anytime soon.

She readjusted her shirt, wondering if her skirt and heels seemed professional enough for her first meeting with a new client. She took a small mirror from her bag and checked if her hair looked decent, if there wasn't lipstick on her teeth or if she hadn't accidentally rubbed her mascara and eyeliner all over her eyes. It would be quite awkward to meet a new client while looking like a vampire raccoon.

Then, she breathed in, stood straight, and waited.

Eventually, a small woman in her mid-twenties entered the hall, dressed in a black dress, as expected. Hana waved, and the woman smiled in return. She hurried close to Hana.

"You must be Miss Torana," she greeted and extended her hand.

They shook hands. "And you are Miss Maple. Glad to meet you. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm good. But I'll feel better once we get to work," she admitted and offered a warm smile.

"Let's get to business then. We can sit in the nearby café," Hana suggested, her eyes wide open –but not crazy-wide– and her voice bright and clear –the whole I'm-a-nice-person-so-relax-and-trust-me package.

Miss Maple agreed and followed her. She seemed even smaller now that she was walking next to Hana. Her short, wavy chestnut hair and big amber eyes gave her a warm aura, although they were slightly dulled and tired. That was understandable, after her loss.

"I didn't think you were that young," Maya commented, but her tone was void of reproach. "Would it be rude to ask how old you are?"

Hana smiled, amused. "No, don't worry. I'm nineteen."

"A crime hunter at nineteen? You're impressive."

"Thank you," she politely replied, although she didn't believe that. She did note, however, that as she had expected, Maya clearly didn't have the common mindset her clients had – " _Is it even legal for me to hire you?_ seemed more like the kind of questions she was used to getting… or well, when her clients cared about what was legal or not.

She blamed the HCDS on that. Hunters were full of resources. She had even heard an eleven-year-old had managed to pass the exam when she herself was eleven. Now that she looked back on her still-training-to-be-a-hunter but more Mario-kart-engrossed eleven-year-old self, she understood how impressive _that_ was. And that was probably the kind of things Maya dealt with every day. She dwelt in that world.

She suddenly remembered what she had wondered about when Maya had first contacted her. "Miss Maple, could I ask you a question?" she started, and as Maya nodded, she went on. "I've been wondering why you didn't hire an HCDS crime hunter. They're probably all closer choices than I am."

"You're right. And I understand why you're asking that. It would seem normal to hire someone from there, since I know people and work there. But I wanted to hire someone who would accept the case no matter how serious it is, and I know HCDS agents always have more important cases to take care of than the suicide of a college student." She stopped talking. Her voice seemed to die for a second. "I just realized it wouldn't seem important enough for an agent, even though it means everything to me. And being told that my brother's death is not 'important enough' for an agent to 'waste time over it' would probably hurt me more than necessary –and God knows I need to go easy on my nerves."

The familiarity of her words tasted bitter. "I understand. Or well, I understand both points of views. It's not easy for you."

"I'm probably being irrational because objectively speaking, I know it's more important catching dangerous and atypical serial killers who could quickly cause global mayhem than finding out if a mourning woman's gut feeling is just some kind of denial or something truly important."

"Leave that to me, then. Nothing is not important enough for me. I'll find out whether your gut feeling is justified or not. You can be sure of that."

"I'm glad I can count on you," Maya replied, grateful. "I'm a hunter myself, but not the best nor the strongest. There isn't much I can do compared to a crime hunter. So I do think that entrusting the case to you was a good choice."

"I can assure you it was," Hana joked, though deep inside she meant that. "I won't let go of it until I find a solution I deem satisfying. Something that will make you sleep better."

"I'm counting on you. By the way, you can call me Maya. I'm not so much into civilities."

"Alright. Call me Hanaiko then."

They arrived in the café. It expanded in front of them in a large square of marble, the creamy walls making the room seem even bigger than it already was. Large vintage pictures of Megamshill were hanging on the walls, next to velvet curtains and floor-to-ceiling windows that opened on the back gardens. The whole room transpired luxury and meticulous care, as if any shiny pebble had been thoroughly discussed and planned before it was placed in the room.

As expected from the Delexo hotel.

There were a few people taking their breakfast at this time, but it was quiet. They found a table in a secluded corner of the room. A waiter came shortly after they sat and took their orders. Then, he disappeared.

Hana took a few sheets from her huge purse. "I've skimmed through the documents you gave me, and it's true that there is something strange about the case. Some things don't sit well with me so I kind of understand why you're having this gut feeling."

Maya tensed up. "I know it's early, but did you find anything?"

Cautious, Hana went on. "Nothing very useful, but I read the medical examiner's report and I do believe, for a start, that your brother killed himself. There is no sign of external aggression and no foreign DNA samples, either on him or on the box of pills he ingested. The fingerprint analysis you requested revealed nothing besides the fingerprints of the pharmacist –who was questioned and had a very good alibi anyway."

Maya lowered her gaze. "Do you think Maes could have been manipulated to kill himself?"

Here, Maya's true intent. Her gut feeling. Hana had had a feeling from the start that this was what she meant. Almost as if the possibility that her brother could have hidden his issues to her seemed less plausible than a third party trying to kill him.

"It could be a possibility. Of course, it could also be his own decision –for reasons I would try to understand – so I wouldn't get my hopes too high. However, I still feel it is strange. There are very few hints as to why he did that and it was too sudden. His suicide note left a bitter aftertaste, like something was overwhelming him." She paused, afraid that she was saying too much. "So yes, there is a possibility that someone else could be involved. But there is also the possibility that he had issues and had refused to talk to you." Issues such as drugs or depression or financial instability or, who knew, harassment. There could be endless reasons to explain his suicide, including the truth Maya dreaded to admit: her brother hiding things from her.

But Maya was calm and focused. "So you think there is still a chance to explain why he did that. That there could be a real reason he did that. Answers." She stopped talking and narrowed her eyes. "That this something could be… a someone?"

Hana took a deep breath. "I said it was a possibility, but I wouldn't go that far. I wouldn't want to give you hope and then tell you I found nothing. That's why I need to investigate. Look in his room, in his computer, his student notes. To see if he had issues," she repeated, making sure Maya got what she said this time. "The process will be long, especially that I'm managing a few other cases at the same time, but it might give me more hints. I have means to look thoroughly into this case."

"Yes, you're right." Maya looked lost in thought. "There is still the possibility that… he wasn't telling me everything." She stopped talking, her eyes focused in her tea.

Some part of Hana was afraid she had said too much and had depressed Maya more than she already was, but another argued that she _needed_ this truth. It wasn't even an affirmation. She had just given the two solutions that seemed plausible to her. Focusing on one solution and clinging to it was a dangerous thing to do, especially when it came to matters that involved people and emotions. The firm belief in a hypothesis and disregard of another could easily backfire; it would mix facts and thoughts and blur truths with opinions. Which was deadly. Because if the favored hypothesis was false, the blow was twice as hard to take.

"I will give you the keys to his apartment," Maya broke the silence. "If you have time, my boyfriend could drive us to my place –that's where I kept Maes's stuff, along with the documents I scanned and sent you. I couldn't scan everything so if you need to go through all his notes, I could give them to you."

Hana looked at her phone. "I have time. I could start today by fetching his laptop and the notes you have and bringing them home with me. I could work on it at night, then."

Maya managed a smile. "Alright, we could do that."

They talked for some more time about the case, about Maes and his life, about the Police. About the memorial Maya would hold in the afternoon. They exchanged documents over their teas and took notes and Maya somehow got lost in how amazing Maes was as a person and a brother and Hana listened, amazed by so much love and so much admiration. So much nostalgia.

And hope. So much hope.

They got up after twenty minutes and looked inside their bags at the same time, but Maya was faster. She put a bill on the table. Hana tried to refuse but Maya was determined and eventually won. They laughed on their way to Maya's car and chatted a bit more about Maya's routine and all the angry people slamming their fists on her table and demanding to see her boss, and all their threats to make her lose her job and never find any other. Hana had her load of grumpy clients as well, from impatient mobsters used to get whatever they wanted at any time to people who weren't quite so accustomed to seeing teenagers work in the field and always underestimated her.

It was sort of funny that they could both relate to each other's professional experiences, even though their jobs were inherently different. Rude people were quite the universal unlimited resource.

They finally reached the parking. The car was parked outside, and a tall man was leaning on it. He waved at Maya.

Maya smiled and greeted him with a smile.

"Hanaiko, this is Leorio, my boyfriend."

He was tall, very tall. Taller than Hana. With a handsome face and masculine features, short black spiky hair and kind blue eyes. He was wearing a suit but stood in a sort of goofy way. There was something rather funny and comely about him. From his engaging gaze to his smile.

"I'm Leorio Paladiknight, Maya's immensely lucky boyfriend. Nice to meet you. You're the new detective, right?" he introduced himself and shook Hana's hand. He had a solid, tight grip and a dynamic shake. The kind of gestures that transpired friendliness.

"Hanaiko Torana. I'm indeed the new detective. And definitely the right one," she added with a confident smile.

Leorio laughed. "I like that confidence. When are you starting?"

"Right now, actually. By picking up his stuff and looking through his notes. I don't have time to go to his apartment today but I'll find a way to do that tomorrow."

"Good. Now that's what I want to hear. I'm going to drive you to Maya's place, so you can do that."

"Thanks, that's really nice."

"Nah, no problem. Hop in, we're there in a minute."

* * *

 **3:00 P.M.**

He swiftly walked among the crowd, hands in his black suit's pockets, eyes scanning the city. He hadn't come there in four years, and he could never have guessed it would have changed that much. New skyscrapers stretching along the streets, huge supermarkets replacing old tarnished groceries, rows of trees bordering the road… The city flourished in a scent of newness that, far from confusing him, attracted him.

Megamshill was reborn.

He took a much calmer street perpendicular to the main avenue and checked the GPS on his phone. He was close. His destination was just a few blocks away.

He reached it after a few minutes, stopped in front of the portal and rang. He readjusted his suit and tie.

Leorio exited the house and opened the portal. "Killua," he called and gave him a friendly pat on the back.

"Leorio. It's nice to see you again," Killua said as he followed him inside.

"Same here, kiddo. Although you're not that much of a kid anymore." He sighed. "You don't wanna shrink a little bit, just so I can still take some pride in my height?"

Killua smiled. "Six feet, Leorio. And still growing."

"Shut up," Leorio laughed. Then, more seriously, as they got inside the house. "I'm sorry we have to meet back in that situation."

"Nah, don't worry. Maya needs support. I was shocked, too. I liked Maes. I never thought this could happen."

"It's weird, right?" Leorio whispered as he offered him a drink in the entrance hall. "Maes was like… the last person I expected to commit a suicide. It happened like a slap –bam! Without a warning. Nothing to announce that. Just one day the police contacting Maya and telling her they had found him in his room. Dead. A neighbor had contacted them after not seeing him for a week. She was just as shocked as us. Just… Just why? How?"

Killua kept quiet. "I don't know. He was either hiding stuff from Maya or something happened. Either way, it's weird."

Leorio drank his glass. "I know. I don't know what to believe. I feel like there was something he didn't tell her."

Killua stared at the wine. "How is she?"

"Calm. Too calm."

"You're worried."

Leorio sighed. "I know her too well, Killua. She is… holding it in. It's like she doesn't want to believe he is dead, so she holds it in. She needs to know why he did that, at least. She thinks it's her fault."

"She's blaming herself?"

"Yeah. ' _I should have known'_ and ' _I should have checked on him more often'_ and that kind of shit."

"That's predictable," Killua admitted. He took a sip of wine. The warmth spread in his throat, the acrid and sweet taste lingering on his tongue. "They were very close. She probably thought she should have been the one who could have helped him."

"Yeah, but she couldn't know. There were no hints. At all. I'm not kidding when I say it was a slap. Nothing to predict that. Either something happened within the span of a week or he was hiding some issues from her."

Killua served himself another glass of wine and served Leorio too. The guests, all dressed in black, were all whispering, as if talking any louder than a murmur would offend the dead. A discreet scent of incense came from the living-room.

"I suppose Maya won't let go of the case," Killua said, turning his eyes back to Leorio. He looked tired, anxious.

"Yeah. The police gave up but she hired a freelance detective. A crime hunter. I saw her, and she seems good. Energetic. Dynamic. Motivated. She's immediately taking action." He paused, and Killua waited for him to keep going. Because he saw there was something else Leorio wanted to say, lingering beneath the hesitation, the blinking eyes fixing the wine glass, the fingers that anxiously ran on the glass's edge. Leorio sighed. "I don't know if there's anything to find. I'm just scared of never finding answers. Maya won't be able to let go of it that easily."

"Wait for the hunter to contact you. Tell yourself that in the eyes of the police, a suicide with no external intervention and no sign of bullying or any other kind of social pressure is just a suicide among others. They can't do anything. A crime hunter might be more suited. That's not the kind of things crime hunters usually do, but they have more means than the police to peel through the evidence. See things nobody else can see."

"You think?"

"Yeah. If you want, I could try to look inside the case and tell you if I find anything. If I had known she wanted to hire someone, I'd have offered my help sooner."

Leorio smiled. "Maya wants to do things her way. I think it reassures her to know she has a hold on that, at least. But I'll keep your offer in mind, just in case. That's nice of you, thanks."

Killua shrugged. "It's nothing."

After a short moment, Leorio's smile broadened. "Right. I forgot you were a pro now. Professional crime hunter."

"Yeah. One of the best, too," he bragged.

Leorio chuckled. "You like it?"

"It's cool, really. I met a lot of… unconventional people."

"Somehow it suits you. You're intelligent and intuitive. It makes me happy you found something you like."

"Thanks. I do like it."

"At some point, I debated with myself over the specialization you'd choose. I even thought you'd be a gourmet hunter at some point. Hunting for some new sweets to satisfy your eminent taste buds."

Killua chuckled. "I like sweets, not horned-bears horn-moss rice. I cater to the current things I cook. I don't feel the need for adventurous tastes just yet."

"Right. By the way, you came back for work, right? That's what you told me over the phone."

"Yeah. A suspicious disappearance. Though all disappearances are more or less suspicious."

"I heard you were picky," Leorio smiled, as if a part of him was happy to talk about his friend as a professional, with his own quirks and methods. Almost like a proud parent witnessing the growth of his offspring.

"That's what people say, but the truth is I just don't throw myself in situations I know I can't handle. I don't mind a bit of challenge but I need to stay sensible."

"I think people just believe you can solve anything. You have a reputation, you know."

Killua shrugged. "Being one of the bests doesn't make me a superhuman. I'm not reckless; I need to know what I throw myself into."

"You kinda _are_ a superhuman," Leorio argued.

"Pfft. Nah. What about you? You're finally starting right?"

"Not exactly. It's just been seven years so I'm just an intern at the Megamshill General Hospital."

"Yeah, you're ' _just'_ an intern in the most in demand hospital of the city. _The_ MGH. It's not like it's an achievement or anything," Killua corrected, sarcastic but amused.

"Well it's pretty good, but how is that surprising? I'm the best," he joked, rubbing his nails on his suit.

Killua snorted. "Smug." He paused. "Where's Maya? I want to see her."

"That will make her happy. She's in the living-room."

Killua nodded, put his glass on the table they were standing next to and went in the living room. A few young people he supposed were Maes's classmates were quietly chatting together. Maya was standing near the chimney, grim in her black dress. However, as soon as she saw Killua, her face seemed enlightened. She rushed near him.

"Killua!" she called, as loud as she was allowed to be in that situation.

He offered a warm smile. "It's been a long time."

She looked up at him with thankful eyes. "Thank you so much for coming. It means a lot to me. You have no idea."

"It's nothing. I liked Maes. He was a cool person. I should probably say I'm sorry, even though I know that's not what you want to hear."

"Yes, you're right. But I appreciate it, Killua. Maes really looked up to you, so you being there means a lot. Thank you." Her voice cracked for a moment, and Killua was afraid she would start crying. Leorio would probably be reassured to see her let it out, but Killua didn't want to be the one handling that.

"I'm honored," he thanked her.

A few people came in the living room and offered their condolences to Maya. One of them rang a bell in Killua's memory. He was about sure he had already seen that man with his grayish hair brushed back on his head and his perfectly groomed beard. He offered his condolences, like everybody, but Maya seemed more respectful with him.

The man turned to Killua. He arched his eyebrows in surprise.

"Killua, this is my boss, Mr. Allan Fox," she introduced him, and Killua knew Allan Fox was quite a big deal at this moment.

"I'm glad to meet you again, Mr. Zoaldyeck," Allan Fox said in a low, husky voice.

Killua suddenly remembered the man. One of the most important hunters at the HCDS, and a great crime hunter with that. He hadn't recognized him immediately, because when they had met, Allan Fox had spent three months tracking the Wonderland serial killer that had shaken Megamshill and Comershill, and didn't look as clean and rested as he did at this moment. Killua was the one who had caught the murderer and had allowed Allan Fox to have some peace of mind.

"Mr. Fox. A pleasure to see you again," Killua said and shook his hand. He stared at Allan Fox for some time, pinpointing something peculiar in his gaze. Something like ferocious curiosity.

"I'm still in awe over your efficiency on the Wonderland case. And you were just sixteen." His eyes gleamed with interest.

"You weren't bad yourself."

"You're just flattering me," Allan Fox laughed. "Unfortunately, I have to go." He turned to Maya. "Miss Maple, I'm sorry I can't stay any longer."

"Oh no, don't worry. Thank you for coming, Mr. Fox. I'm really glad you did."

He then took off, after glancing one last time at Killua.

"I didn't know you worked for him," Killua said, his eyes following Allan Fox's back. There was something uncanny about him. Something curious and voracious, but not in an unhealthy way. He looked like he wanted to see how Killua would thrive, see how this promising young person would turn out. A passionate philanthropist.

"I am his secretary."

Killua swiveled to Maya. "I should go, too. I just wanted to see you and Leorio. We'll see each other again."

Maya smiled. "Thank you for coming. Really, I mean it when I say that."

"I know. Try to rest. You need it."

He left shortly after she wished him a goodbye, waved from afar at Leorio, who was busy greeting a few men, and went home to get changed.

* * *

 **4:10 P.M.**

Aleon Dove had spent the entire afternoon sitting at the rear end of the bar, emptying glass after glass of wine.

Hana had studied him from her spot behind the counter, subtle but careful, while cleaning glasses or taking some people's orders. But the more she observed him, the more she wondered if subtleness was even required. He didn't look like he was registering anyone's presence, let alone hers, a mere bartender properly doing her job on the other side of the room. He didn't even look like he was registering his own presence in the bar. He just looked lost. Completely and utterly lost.

She had applied for this job for the sole purpose of observing him –since it hadn't taken long to realize he spent his days at the bar – but a part of her felt like she could simply have sat behind him in the bluntest way and he wouldn't have noticed.

She hung the glass she was drying on top of her, with a row of other glasses, and proceeded to clean another. She glanced at his head that looked like it would collapse anytime on the table, and pursed her lips. She wasn't sure what she could do about him. She had been following him for two weeks already, but his schedule was the same every day. He usually slept until noon and then woke up to go the Delexo hotel's bar, where he spent most of his day. Then, after a wine purge that would destroy anyone's liver, he haggardly walked to the buffet restaurant, had dinner, and limped to his suite where he would slump on his bed until the next day's noon.

When she was lucky, he would show some signs of lucidity and go out in the streets in the evening, and those moments proved to be more useful to her. Those were the moments when he would behave like a relatively sober Aleon Dove would. He would saunter in the streets, buy expensive supplies and clothes, sometimes sit and pick a newspaper. She could then see glimpses of the man he used to be, of the dutiful, clean and poised businessman his girlfriend had described to her. But those moments were short-lived because eventually he would grow distressed and frantic and hurry back in the Delexo Hotel, to his suite. To the shriveling man coiled over his glass that she saw every day. Hana had concluded that the hotel was some sort of shelter to him.

When she was much less lucky, he would spend the whole afternoon drinking and _then_ he would go in the streets. She was always afraid he would pick fights or throw himself in front of a bus, or do anything that would force her to come out of the shadows and save his drunk ass –or save someone else's unlucky ass from him, that was an option too.

So, overall, Aleon Dove wasn't helping her at all in her attempts to spy on him. His girlfriend had only requested Hana to follow him, but sooner or later, she'd have to get better means to know what was wrong with him. Hacking his computer hadn't helped much either –he had received nothing but bills reminders and advertisements, or emails from his business partners. Hana would have to do more in order to extract something, anything from this case –which meant listening to his phone conversations if he had any, and tracking his every move. She just hoped his girlfriend wouldn't mind her methods.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she caught a slight movement toward his seat. He moved his head, opened glassy eyes and looked around himself, as if he were wondering where he was sitting. Then, he became more frantic. Glanced around him, afraid. Worried. Showing the same desperate energy a prey running from a predator would show.

Hana narrowed her eyes, moving to the shadowed part of the counter to see him better. He seemed conscious, finally. But scared. Even from where she was, she could see he was panting. He was panicking.

That happened sometimes, too. When he became too aware and started looking around himself, as if he were checking nobody was here to harm him. But this time, he was _truly_ frightened. She cursed under her breath. She hurried on the other side of the counter, careful not to be seen by him, and intercepted her co-worker as he walked past her.

"Yazel," she called in a quiet voice, and he looked at her, blinking.

"Yeah? I'm busy," he argued and frowned. "What's wrong?"

"The customer over there is panicking."

He swiveled. "Oh. Again."

"It's never been that bad," she reminded him.

He gave her the plate he was carrying. "Make two Mojitos for the table n°5. I'll bring him a glass of water."

She took the plate and he rushed to Aleon's side. She went back behind the counter and started putting mint leaves in two glasses, focused on Yazel and Aleon. Yazel was the one she got along with the most at the bar, and as such, the one who talked to her the most. He had told her that Aleon would often come, even before she had been hired, and that everyone was used to see him there. He had sworn he was a VIP customer, too, since he had an expensive suite in the hotel.

She frowned when Aleon flinched at Yazel's sudden appearance, but relaxed when he himself did. He took the glass of water, seemingly grateful, and emptied it as fast as any of his drinks. Yazel and Aleon talked for a bit and Yazel came back a minute later.

"He told me he was having a nightmare," he shrugged and grabbed a towel from under the sink, wetted it and wrung it. "As if. He was hallucinating from all the alcohol he's ingested," he pestered.

"Did he say anything more?"

"He asked me if anyone had arrived in the bar. Psh, of course people arrived. It's a bar, not a private room. Did he expect me to know the names of every single customer? And even if I did, why would I give them to him?"

She poured lemon juice in the glasses, silent. "That's weird," she replied, absent-minded. And determined to get every single name of every single new customer who had arrived at the bar. "I've rarely seen him more conscious than now. Which is weird, since he is so drunk I can hardly see how he could communicate with anyone." She rose her gaze and stared at him. He was sitting straight in his chair, looking soberer than she was.

"Yeah, I was surprised too. He was almost drowning in his glass just a minute ago, like, super close to an ethylic coma. And look at him now." He pointed at him with his chin. "He's not normal."

She shrugged. "He's having a strange moment of consciousness. Peeking through the fog, I guess."

Yazel grumbled something that she knew wasn't pleasant, and she smiled. With his freckles and his short blonde waves, his brown eyes and his turned-up nose, Yazel looked nothing like the grumpy, whiny boy he was, dripping with sarcasm and cynicism.

"I'm gonna bring him a wet towel," he announced and walked over Aleon, who accepted the towel with a thankful gaze and wiped the sweat off his forehead. He then hunched back on his table and kept looking around, to reassure himself.

Yazel came back and grimaced. "I'm impatient to be done with my shift," he hissed. "I can't stand people like him."

"You're the one who brought the towel of your own will."

He glared at her. "Are you insinuating I have a kind fiber in my ice-cold heart?"

"I wouldn't dare!" She rose her arms in defense. "Though I do think you have more than just one kind fiber in your not-so-cold heart."

He feigned glaring, then smiled at her. "Give me my Mojitos and stop talking nonsense."

"Okay, boss."

* * *

 **7:30 P.M.**

Killua flashed his badge in front of the building's main gate and waited as it opened. He got inside. Called the elevator. And waited.

It was stuck on the eleventh floor.

He had spent the rest of the afternoon outside, after getting changed, visiting the new places and the renovated ones, and the old ones too because they still seduced him.

The building Killua lived in was pretty modern, in the core of a privileged –if not rich – neighborhood. When he had bought his apartment, the building had been renovated and looked brand new. He had been told that it was replacing an old abandoned neighborhood, which had been deserted as people preferred to move closer to the city's core. It was part of a project to give the city a whiff of newness, to seduce people back into living in those formerly dilapidated areas and boost the city's economy. Or well, in this case, seduce wealthy people back in the neighborhood.

The neighborhood had everything. The grocery at the corner of the street –that Killua had just stripped of all its sweets for his dessert – the clothes shops, the bus stops, the subway, the sports complex… There were also a school and a hospital, but they were a bit farther. All kinds of services were offered just five minutes away from the building.

He remembered, however, an element in this modern, trendy neighborhood, that didn't click: an abandoned basketball court, standing in the backyard of his building, about ten minutes from the entry hall. Or well, it used to be there. He had heard it would be destroyed when he left the city.

He had found the court when he had been to Megamshill for the first time. He had noticed it while discovering the back gardens, an awkwardly old place in the midst of modern buildings and perfectly groomed greenery. That oddity had attracted him.

He tried to picture the court again.

Back in the time, it had been taken over by wilderness, by bushes growing sparsely, ivy creeping on the walls, moss greening the court's corners, and overgrown grass tickling the court. The court itself had been left untouched by the greenery, but time and neglect had both carved their marks through faded paint, cracks in the concrete and rust on the hoop and the fence. But that had never bothered him. If anything, it added to the place's charm. The fact that nobody had been there in a long time, the mystery in the air. The ethereal aura that surrounded it. The curtains of leaves covering the entire fence that seemed to isolate it from the world.

He used to go there to focus, ponder, give himself up to his thoughts in the quietness. Just lie on one of the benches and watch the sky. It was calming. Serene. Far from the car honks and the hubbub. Almost far from the present. A bubble of tranquility. There, he would only hear the crickets and the owls at night, and the wind in the trees. His mind. The people who had left tiny pieces of themselves there.

A thought flashed in his mind. What if the court was still there? What if the rumor that it would be destroyed was false? It wouldn't hurt to check.

It wouldn't hurt, and if it _hadn't_ been destroyed, it would make his day. Because he remembered he had really liked this place. So close from his apartment, and yet so far from everything. Holding remnants of humanity. People had been there, people had played there. People had won and lost there, and perhaps, people had started a passion there or vented about their frustration. He could imagine anything and everything. He could try to guess what happened, who had walked there before him.

He looked at the gates that led to the back gardens. Then at the elevator. It was still stuck on the eleventh floor.

He wanted to go back to the court. To see if it was still there.

And so, he walked toward to the back gates. Exited the building. Searched for the green fence, deep in the gardens. And then, he saw it among the trees. Drowning under the greenery.

He blinked. Smiled, slowly.

And walked. Among the bushes and the trees, the perfect gardens and the way guarded by rows of pebbles.

He walked, until he found the stairs.

He stopped.

The same silence. The same ethereal feeling. As if the court had been stuck in the past, unable to move forward and catch up with the present.

He climbed the stairs. He opened the portal that separated the building's back gardens to the court, eager to meet back with this place, to stand on its ground and seat on its bench and eat some candies there and...

And…

And then, he saw her.

A girl in shorts and a jersey. With a basketball ball in her hands. Eyes riveted on the hoop.

It was the first time ever he saw someone else at this place.

The first time ever.

She stood in the middle of the three-point shooting zone. Intensely focused. Shooting hoops. Waiting for the ball to roll back at her feet, picking it up and throwing again. All the while, her eyes sharp and focused.

She hadn't heard him, hadn't even felt his presence.

With inaudible steps, he walked around the basketball court, careful not to step inside. As if by doing so, he would step into this girl's privacy, her own world, her own personal space. He observed her, this person who had found his mysterious place and had conquered it during his absence. He observed her with a mix of astonishment, curiosity, and annoyance.

After all, _wow_ , someone had found this completely lost place! But also, _who_ was that someone who had found this completely lost place? And, well, someone had found _his_ completely lost place.

Yes, his place, though he had no right to call it his. Especially after all this time without even stepping into the city. He couldn't expect it to be left undiscovered after all this time.

And yet, some slight annoyance lingered. He had come here intending to meet back with this old place, this old _friend_ , and he disliked perturbations ruining his plans.

And here, the perturbation was this girl, this _intruder_ , who, it seemed, hadn't noticed him yet.

A strong gush of wind disrupted the trajectory of her ball. It abruptly hit the hoop and landed on the floor, bouncing a few times and rolling toward him. As if she had popped out of a bubble, she flinched, and turned toward him as the ball reached his foot.

She remained silent for a moment, her mouth slightly open, her big green eyes wide with confusion. Registering his presence, and the absence of her ball.

He picked up the ball. "You want that?" he asked, his voice tainted with irritation.

She blinked. "Oh." A pause. "Yes?" He threw the ball toward her. She caught it. "Thanks! You're new here, aren't you? I mean, it's the first time I see you here," she said as she gestured to show the field. "I've been coming here for years. And I haven't seen anybody here since they built the new sports complex. You're the first."

Ah.

It was _her_ place. And _he_ was the intruder, technically. His annoyance faltered upon this realization. "Ah, okay. I'm not exactly new here, though."

"What do you mean?"

"I found it four years ago when I visited the city."

"Hm. Makes sense we didn't meet before, then. You took care of it during my absence."

"I only stayed there for a few months. When I left, I had heard it would be demolished."

"Oh, yeah. There was a rumor about that. But they gave up on that."

"Why?"

She shrugged. "They probably had an illumination. Suddenly, they realized this place was too wondrous to be destroyed. The first good idea they've had in years –even better than the warm baguette vending machine."

"It's not like it's plaguing the view anyway." He turned to look at the thick curtains of vines that covered the fence. If anything, the apartments that gave onto it had a wall of greenery to look at.

"I know right? This court is just everything. A treasure. It hosted so many important matches when it was still alive." She stopped, and her eyes shone with eagerness. "But damn, it's pretty amazing to interact with a human being here. Usually, there are only grasshoppers and squirrels and cats. Makes me so curious," she rambled.

 _Curious and chatty_ , he thought. _Very chatty._

"You mean you've never seen anyone come here?"

She shook her head. "Except lost people, but those don't count – all they wanted was to find their way in the huge backyard. But you're clearly not lost. The moment I saw you here I knew you knew this place."

He stared at her, and the hint of a smile brushed his lips. "Took you long enough to see me, precisely."

"I did hear the portal opening, but I thought it was the wind, since I didn't hear any step or feel any presence." She tilted her head. "You're almost like a ghost."

He smirked. He couldn't blame her for not hearing or feeling him; not after years spent erasing his presence and muffling his steps for his childhood missions. "Fair enough."

She caught a lock of greige hair that escaped her ponytail and slid it behind her ear. "You said you weren't new here. Do you go to the local college? You seem pretty young," she suggested, even though she didn't look older than he was.

"Nah."

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"Just like me," she said. "Are you a traveler, then?"

"… Depends."

"Then what?"

Damn, she was curious. "Let's say I just live here. What about you?" he asked.

"Same. My grandma used to live in the neighborhood, so I often came to play here when I was a kid –I was buddies with the janitor. It sort of became a habit. Until I bought an apartment here."

"You play by yourself?" he asked, his eyes falling on the ball in her hands.

"I never had anyone to play with. So eventually I just started coming here alone. It's not too bad. I can focus. Think. Just sort things out, you know."

 _Focus?_ He remembered the locked air he had felt around her –how the whole court seemed to pulse with her energy. To think it all covered such a talkative person. "I see what you mean."

She gestured to her ball. "Do you play? Basketball, I mean."

"I can manage."

"If you ever want to play and challenge one of the best basketball players ever…" she gestured at herself. "I come here pretty often."

"Thanks for the suggestion, show-off."

She laughed. "Anyway, I gotta go," she said.

"No more shots?"

"No more shots. I'm a busy lady. Got a ton of stuff to do."

"Enjoy yourself, then."

"I will." She grabbed her bag, which was on a nearby bench. "It was nice to meet you. You're cool. See you, I guess? If I didn't make you hate me, already."

"I'm close to, but not yet," he joked. "Keep talking and the hate might spark."

She chuckled. "I'm honored. By the way," she hesitated, and scratched her cheek. "Sorry if I talked a lot. I get too excited when I meet people."

"It's okay, I understand you. I'd be excited to meet me, too."

She scrunched her nose and walked away, with a dynamic gait that suited her very much.

When she reached the portal, she turned around and waved. And then she was gone after one last grin.

He waited a minute, noticed the sudden quietness. The interaction hadn't been unpleasant –quite the contrary. But she was kind of loud, so, in contrast, the silence was deafening.

He looked around him, feeling as if she were still there. Even now that she was gone, the court still vibrated with her assertive presence, her loudness, and her energy. It was unsettling. It did feel like it was _her_ court. Everything about her had claimed this place, as if each step she had taken had stamped her name on the ground.

He stepped out of the court, back to his world. He lay on a bench, relished in the view of the sky. The stars that started to dot the sky. The mixture of reds and purples and blues. The clouds smudging the space.

He felt peaceful.

He thought again about the girl who had conquered the basketball court and had made this meeting so easy. As if she had always known him and had stumbled upon an old acquaintance, filling the conversation with effortless jokes and casual ramblings.

She was friendly, for someone who had barely met him. A bit like those nice students in movies who welcomed the transfer students and volunteered to show them around. Or like a Non-Playable Character – _NPC_ – in video games, who somehow always conveniently popped out of nowhere to explain basic rules or give basic tips –and already knew the main character's name, which was pretty creepy.

But what Killua didn't know yet was that Hana would be no NPC in his life.

She would be a main character.

* * *

 **A/N** : Whew, that was a long chapter. I hope you liked it! It was kind of an introductive chapter; the action starts next chapter. (Also, the end of this chapter is kind of random but I've wanted to write this joke for so long, so please bear with me hehe)

What did you think about this chapter? About Hana, and Killua? Did you like their meeting? I'd love to hear your thoughts about it! I love every single review I get, guest or not guest, short or long, crack or serious… They always make my day and motivate me to keep going.

Anyway, thanks a lot for reading and see you in two weeks!


	3. Foreboding

**A/N:** Hiii there! Gah, it was so long to wait two weeks to update. I'm overexcited, I just want to publish everything I've written but that wouldn't be very wise. (Patience has never been my best quality…) I'm currently writing the eleventh chapter so it's a bit unsettling to go back to the beginning of the story.

I'd like to thank all of you who read, reviewed, followed and favorited this story! Your support never fails to lift my mood, and you have no idea how happy it makes me to read your feedback. (I read every single review I get at least ten times, I swear…)

Special thanks to my sweet **Basma K** who advertised my story in her latest chapter! Thank you so, so much my sweet Basma! You're amazing and I love you so much. If any of you are looking for an amazing KilluaOC fic to read, (although I suppose my baby story might not be the most appropriate place to advertise an adult fic), her story is the right place to go! Her Killua is the best older Killua I've read and her OC is just so human, you'll read her and wonder if she's not talking about you somehow.

Anyway, I've talked enough now. On to the chapter!

* * *

Chapter 2: **Foreboding**

* * *

 **Wednesday, March 18** **th**

 **8:02 P.M.**

Looking through Maes's notes hadn't revealed anything groundbreaking.

 _It can't be that easy_ , she reminded herself while munching on her sandwich.

All she had learned was that Maes Maple was a twenty-two-year-old History and Geography major when he died. His notes were filled with dates and maps and figures and statistics, and all kinds of diagrams and charts popped out of his binder. It had been tedious to look through one semester and some more of History and Geography for Hana –they were usually some pretty chatty classes.

She had also learned a lot about the massive Southern Peace Auction attack seven years ago or the Chimera Ants War, which she had heard of from her mother and from the news. She had never read about them from a historical, social or political point of view, and her curiosity had begged to be quenched. She had tried to rush past the sentences but her eyes had just bumped on the words. And without being aware of it, she had gulped down paragraphs and paragraphs about the consequences on the national scale of the Auction's attack, the reinforcement measures taken by the country to prevent terrorism and theft, the political involvement of powerful countries in the Chimera Ants war and the geopolitical arguments they had later, when the war was over, to redistribute the land and redefine limits.

Of course, after wasting ten good minutes on that, she had gotten back to work. It was interesting but she didn't have time for that. And well, even if she did have time, she hadn't been hired to educate herself on the political involvement of hunters in modern issues. She had been hired to find out why Maes Maple had decided to go out on a cold Friday night to the drugstore, why he had bought a box of painkillers with his college doctor's prescription, and why he had sat on his kitchen floor to ingest the whole box. Just why.

And so far, the notes weren't telling her why.

Well, she _had_ noticed a few subtle changes around the second semester's start, in January. Sloppier notes. A messier handwriting. The paragraphs were less long and the doodles had disappeared. After a few more pages –mid-January – the ladybugs were gone and scribbly circles had replaced them. Smudges of ink covered words and stained the pages here and there. The changes were gradual enough and could have a thousand and one explanations, but the circumstances called for thorough attention. It had given her an estimation of when his issues had started –early to mid-January. However, none of those were things Hana hadn't expected to find.

So, no surprise.

She would need to go to his apartment and turn it upside down for a few hours.

She just wondered if Maya had been sensitive to those changes. A part of her felt like she had, at least subconsciously, but had overlooked them –otherwise, she would have been more inclined to think her brother was hiding issues from her.

When she finished her sandwich, she washed her plate and grabbed a bowl, opened a can of cat food and poured it inside. The apartment would wait for tomorrow. For the time being, she had a stray cat to feed.

She took the bowl and exited her apartment, locking the door behind her. She took the elevator and went to the backyard.

She shivered when she was outside in the cold night breeze. She walked fast toward the spot she usually saw the cat at the basketball court. The fresh air was pleasant, awakening her senses. Making her so aware of everything around her –the grass licking her toes through her flip-flops, the crickets hidden in the trees, the laughs of people sharing drinks on their balconies. She breathed in the slight scent of sap and leaves wet with dew, of blooming flowers in spring and freshly cut grass.

The path ended to the stairs that led to the court. She climbed the stairs and opened the portal.

As she stepped on the court, she noticed she wasn't alone.

He was there, too.

Sitting on the bench, arms sprawled on the edge of the bench's back, his tousled white hair standing out in the dim light of the court lamps, the same air of boredom plastered on his face. He rose his eyes toward her when he heard her. Sharp, piercing blue eyes. Sizzling with intelligence.

There was a hint of surprise on his face when she arrived near him. Arched eyebrows, blinking eyes.

"Didn't think I'd see you again so soon," she announced as she slowed down.

"You woke up blessed today," he deadpanned.

She snorted and looked around. "Have you seen a cat around here? She's usually waiting for me at this time."

He pointed at the bush that grew on both sides of the fence, on his left, and she moved a bit closer to him to see what he was seeing. The cat was in the bush, staring at him with cautious, yet curious eyes. Big glowing green eyes stuck on him. "She's been doing that since I came. Forcing me in a staring contest."

"Oh wow. She rarely shows that much interest in people –unless they bring her food. I can't tell if she hates or loves you."

He shrugged. "As long as she doesn't try to bite me."

"She's too lazy for that," she assured. "There is only one way to catch her interest." She shook the bowl in front of her, and the cat meowed.

"Of course."

Slowly, the cat moved toward Hana as she squatted. "There you go." She put the bowl on the floor, and the cat slowly moved to eat its content. Hana reached for the soft gray fur and caressed it, gentle and careful, lingering on the warm back. The cat let herself be caressed while she ate.

Hana smiled. "I get the illusion that she likes me when I give her food."

"She does seem to like you, though."

"You think?"

"I don't know. I don't speak cat. But her tail is up. I think it's supposed to mean she likes you."

"Oh." She ran the back of her fingers on the cat's head. "That would be awesome." She sneaked a look at him. He was staring at her with an undecipherable look. Something that could either be interpreted at a strange manifestation of interest, although tainted by boredom, or slight annoyance. She wasn't sure which it was. Or perhaps that was just his face. Some people were born with permanent dark circles under their eyes, and some others with permanent boredom on their face. Like a secondary state.

She stood up. "Can I sit?"

He removed his arm from the bench's back. "Go ahead."

She sat next to him and sighed. "You know, it's so rare to meet new people here. Most people I've met were too busy or unwilling to talk. Or cats. Or shy people I scared away with my awkward attempts to chat. I know very few people around my age in the area. So I'm glad we got to meet again."

"All that speech to state the obvious."

She rolled eyes, though she was smiling. "How are you liking the building? The community? The neighborhood?"

"It's cool. So far I've been invited twice to have tea. To welcome back "the new neighbor". I feel in my element, among all these soccer moms."

She chuckled. "Satisfies your cookie-craving, gossip-over-a-tea-junky self."

"Yeah, I'm having the time of my life. Listening to Margaret and Brigitte gossip about everyone in the building and complain about their kids and husbands. But not in a bad way. They're nice."

"Oh, those two. They are the only ones who care enough to welcome the new neighbors. They're so sneaky, though, it's adorable. Walking their dogs and gathering information to discuss over their tea. When they're not running everywhere to fetch their kids, that is. But they're genuinely kind. And generous. I think a fair percentage of my whole body fat is… due to them."

"I can imagine. Stay one hour with them and you have enough fat reserve for the whole winter. They gave me four boxes of cookies, because they had made more than necessary for a charity fair at their kids' school."

"The Mom Squad. Eat or bleed," she joked.

He snorted. "Dine or die."

"Swallows or gallows."

He glanced at her. "Nice," he said and smiled. A lovely sight, she thought. On a very handsome person. She peeled her eyes off him, focusing on the cat.

"The neighborhood altogether is lovely. Most people are relatively nice. Changes a lot from where I work."

"Oh?"

"I work at the Delexo hotel. As a bartender. I've had my fair deal of arguments with guys who think they are allowed to call me 'babe'. And my boss hates me."

"Why?"

"I'm not even sure. He told me the only reason he hired me was my "pretty face", not my skills. And I think that's the closest thing to a compliment he ever gave me."

He looked at her as if he were trying to understand what she meant. "So he's a jerk."

"Kind of. But at least he's not a sexist jerk, because he's rude to everyone, regardless of gender. I think he secretly prioritizes appearance over skills and only hires pretty people –you should see my coworkers." She stopped and looked at him, wondering if she could risk a compliment. "Be careful, if he sees you, he might want to hire you."

He smiled, pleasantly surprised. A beautiful smile. Soft and warm. "And you have good eyes."

She laughed. "You're welcome. You could come to the bar if you're around the hotel, someday. I'd give you my best drink for free. My Special. A gift for my new neighbor who isn't a cat or shy or unwilling to talk."

"Is that a sleek technique to get new customers or a smooth way to see me again?"

"Hmmm… A bit of both."

He shrugged, although he seemed to appreciate the attention. "I don't know. I'm busy. Perhaps if I wake up in an altruistic mood I might show up. To brighten up your day, you know."

She raised an eyebrow. "You're such a Saint. Saint─ well, I don't know your name."

"Killua."

"Killua," she repeated. His name tasted new in her mouth. Sharp and yet languid. A fitting name for a person like him. "I'm Hana. Or well, Hanaiko, but I like being called Hana, usually. That's how everyone calls me. Except in professional matters."

"Hana it is, then."

The cat had disappeared. "Anyway, I should go. I've invaded your quietness for long enough." She picked the bowl from the ground. The cat had skittered away, her green eyes peeking from the bush. "Don't hesitate to come at the bar, if you want a taste of heaven that matches a Saint like you."

A lazy smirk on his face, he nodded. "I'll remember."

"Good night, Killua," she said, eager to try saying his name again. To get used to it. A new name, a new acquaintance.

He returned her good night. She waved at him and left.

She realized later that she wasn't cold anymore.

* * *

 **Thursday, March 19** **th**

 **9:02 A.M.**

The mornings were chilly in Megamshill.

Killua shoved his hands in his pockets after checking the time. It was 9 A.M. and he had an hour to kill before his meeting with his new client. A woman whose husband, the influent mobster Eugene Priman, had disappeared a few months ago. He had read the reports she had sent him, but he hadn't started working on it. He needed to meet her in person, to learn more about her and her husband.

As he strolled in the main avenue, that lively avenue that people traveled around the world to see, with its fancy restaurants and its luxury shops, his gaze fell on the colossal Delexo hotel gate.

The girl he had met again the night before – _Hana_ – popped in his mind. So full of pep. With her buzzing energy and her strong presence, talking to him as if she had always known him –and talking a _lot_. He remembered her offer to gift him a free drink. He did have some time to waste before his meeting, too. He couldn't turn down a free cocktail, could he?

He went inside the hotel, asked the receptionist for the bar and followed her directions until he found it. He had expected to find very few people, but there was a decent amount of people scattered in the room.

He then saw her behind the counter. Dressed in a black tube skirt, a white shirt under a black halter vest, and a tie. She had tied her hair in a sophisticatedly messy bun, leaving a strand of hair down from her bangs.

She was drying a glass when she noticed him and greeted him with a big smile.

"Hey! I knew you'd come," she said as he reached the counter.

He sat on a stool. "I had some time to kill and I happened to be near the hotel. You promised me a free drink."

"You remembered."

"You think I'd forget?" he joked.

She crossed her arms, smirking. "Not any free drink, too. _My_ Special."

He shrugged. "I'm curious about what makes it so special. Part of me believes you're just smug and exaggerated so I want to check on that," he said, not really bothered that he could come off as blunt. He had quickly realized she didn't get offended by that kind of things – and he didn't mean to sound rude. It seemed like it amused her.

"Wow. I'm so kind to offer you a free drink and that's how you treat me? How rude."

He smirked. "I'm so kind to grace you with my presence, so, we're even now."

She chuckled. "I won't say anything to that. I _am_ glad you came," she said, her eyes stuck on the glass she had pulled from a row of glasses hanging above her. He seized this opportunity to study her features, and thought about what she had said the night before about her boss. And given that appearance was indeed a criterion to be hired, as she had theorized, he could definitely see why she had been hired. She _was_ pretty. With big almond-shaped eyes and a perky nose, full lips and an oval face. Her features weren't sharp as his own were; it rather seemed like she had been drawn by a reassuring hand, with curves rather than angles, and warm colors –golden peach on her skin, spring green in her eyes, greige in her hair.

"You're examining me," she noted, her eyes still riveted on her concoction.

"I am," he admitted. "Shamelessly so."

She glanced at him, stopping what she was doing for a second. "I am ravishing, right?"

"Was that a rhetorical question?"

"No. Just a casual reminder of common sense." She poured something –vodka? – in the glass.

His eyes fell on the glass in her hands. "What's your Special made of?"

"Hmm. A lot of sweet things. Grapefruit among others. And vodka."

He arched his eyebrows. "Sounds like a deadly combo."

"It is. Trust me, I've tried all sorts of mixings with vodka and this one… is just perfect. Your taste buds will thank me for years."

"I'm having very high expectations for you, now," he affirmed, a small smile settling on his face. "You better be able to satisfy me or else I might not ever come again."

"Oh, believe me, you'll come again. That's the kind of drinks you can't have enough of."

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" he teased.

"Nah, that little vodka won't hurt. Unless you're the type to get all tipsy after a drop of alcohol, that is," she said, her tone indicating that she knew people like that.

He scoffed. "No, I can handle alcohol very well. And a lot of other things."

" _And a lot of other things_. That sounds mysterious. What kind of other things?" She reached to take a lemon quarter and hooked it on the glass's edge.

"… Just stuff. You know, the usual. Arsenic. Cyanide. Belladonna."

She raised an eyebrow, dubious and yet curious. "Interesting." She slid the glass to him. "Here, it's done. Have a taste of Heaven. It's not arsenic but it's pretty deadly."

He looked at the red base, the rosy top and the pulp swimming in the drink. He took a sip. It was very sweet and tangy, with a slightly bitter aftertaste due to the grapefruit. He could pinpoint some pomegranate syrup, too. It did taste really good. Like a tiny citrus explosion in a single glass. A shot of vodka and a gulp of sour fruits to shake his senses. Bitter grapefruit and sweet, soft pomegranate to soothe them after the slap.

"It's not bad."

"Not bad? You mean life-altering, right?" she argued.

"I don't know. I think I can't have a precise opinion yet." He paused, emptied the glass and breathed out as the hot wave coursed through his throat. "Give me another Special and I'll reconsider my answer."

She burst out laughing. "I think that says enough about how you liked it."

He gave a sly smile. "Bribe me and I'll say whatever you want."

"Not sure my boss would appreciate. He already hates me, so I'm about sure if I keep giving you free drinks he's gonna kick my ass –or at least attempt to."

"Nah, I'm kidding. I'll pay for it."

She grinned.

She took his empty glass and put it away while she prepared another drink. "You know, this is very strange, but you remind me so much of a cop in disguise. Or a detective," she changed the topic.

He blinked, taken aback. "A detective? Me?"

"Yeah. You have this… aura. You're so observant and… sharp."

He shrugged, a knowing look on his face. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. For all I know, _you_ could be the cop in disguise. Acting like a bartender to gather information about people. Buttering it up with a lot of silly jokes and small talk to cover the spying and the prying."

"Bartender in the streets, officer in the sheets," she said in a low voice.

"See, just as I said."

"You could be right. That's a pretty strategic place to gather info after all. You know what kind of people come here at night."

He held her gaze. "I do."

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He reached for it and saw he had received a text.

From Gon.

'I bought these and thought of you. Gotta keep my luck game strong! _'_ said the text, and it was coming with a picture of a golden Chocorobot. Killua smiled.

He replied to Gon. 'Two golden Choborobots in a lifetime? That's unfair. Your luck game sure is strong. Lend me some? _'_

He stared at the screen as he sent his message. They had kept in contact after they had parted, five years ago, and regularly saw each other, sometimes even tagging along for some time before going their own ways. They mostly sent each other texts or funny photos and called each other as often as they could. One would think distance would have severed their bond, but none of that. They had grown even closer. Had grown up to open up and talk more easily. To sort out their issues and take care of them before they became a heavy tumor in the back of their mind, burdening them with uncertainty and bitterness.

Mostly, they had learned from their mistakes.

Killua promised himself he would call Gon once he had some free time. Gon often wandered in lost places where he barely had any network, so he would have to be lucky and catch him at the right time. Given that he had sent a picture –proof that he was surrounded by modern infrastructures, at least – that wasn't the case at this moment, but he could also depart anytime and decide to get lost in the 'asshole of the world', as Killua had often said.

His thoughts were interrupted by a glass put in front of him. "Here you go," she said.

He thanked her and started drinking. "You know, you could add bubbles to your Special."

"Bubbles?"

"Yeah. Some carbonated water, with the syrup. It would make it more…"

"Explosive?" she finished his sentence, and he nodded.

"Yeah. More explosive, and fizzy."

She stayed focused, staring at the glass, her arms crossed. "Wouldn't hurt to try. I'm all for improvements." Her lips quirked up in a smile. "You could be my guinea pig."

He smirked. "Sure." Then, he checked the time and noted his meeting was in half an hour. He emptied his still full glass in a long gulp, took in the alcohol's punch, the burning feel on his tongue soothed by the sweet syrup.

She was watching him with wide eyes, slight worry written on her face. "Please tell me you ate something this morning."

He got up and put some coins on the counter. "Don't worry about me. I'm great. And thanks for the drink. It _was_ really good." He smiled, echoing their previous conversation.

She blinked. And grinned. "No problem. Come again whenever you want." She paused. "And please don't collapse on your way back."

He chuckled. The thought was too funny –he, Killua Zoaldyeck, who had endured grievous torture, collapsing because of a bit of vodka. "I won't. Remember: arsenic, cyanide, and belladonna. I'm tough."

"Alright. Bye, then!"

"Bye."

* * *

 **9:47 A.M.**

Killua stood behind the huge portal of the Priman mansion. He pushed a button on the intercom and waited.

"Priman Mansion, I am the head butler Oscar, how could I help you?"

"I'm Killua Zoaldyeck. I have a meeting with Mrs. Kareha-Priman at 10 A.M."

"I understand. I will be waiting for you at the main entry gate to guide you to Mrs. Kareha-Priman. Thank you for your patience."

And the voice died. The portal automatically opened. Killua noticed cameras hidden here and there above the huge fence, in the trees and the bushes. He walked in, unfazed, taking a few glances at the numerous gadgets of security scattered around the place. He could have been impressed by so much security if he didn't come from a mansion on top of a 3,722-meter mountain, guarded by a T-rex-big dog trained to eat the intruders, kickass butlers and a 'garden' huge enough to host the next Jurassic Park. No need for cameras there. Intruders could come as they wished. Nobody said they could _leave,_ though.

When he reached the marble stairs of the main gate, a young butler was standing outside.

He bowed. "Welcome, Mr. Zoaldyeck. Mrs. Kareha-Priman is waiting for you." he greeted and gestured Killua to follow him.

They walked in a long corridor filled with Renaissance paintings and vibrant tapestries until they reached a hall that led to various rooms. They climbed the stairs and the butler stopped in front of a large ornate door, bowed and opened it.

Killua nodded at him and whispered a 'thank you'. He entered the room, stared at the rows and rows of bookshelves extending in front of him with a mix of amazement and curiosity.

Arashi Kareha-Priman was sitting on a red velvet armchair beside a lacquered low table.

She stood up, smoothed her detailed fall-themed kimono, a soft smile on her face.

"Mr. Zoaldyeck," she greeted, offering a pristine smile. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you." She bowed, and he did like her, poised and respectful.

"The pleasure is mine, Madam."

"I have to thank you for accepting to study my request." She showed him an armchair identical to hers, and they sat down.

"Don't worry about that."

The door opened. The same butler who had brought Killua there – Oscar – appeared with a silver cart carrying cups, cookies and a teapot. He put their cups and saucers on the table and poured them some tea. When Mrs. Kareha-Priman thanked him, he disappeared.

"I thought discussing over tea and cookies would be more pleasant," she said as she put a strand of her long, straight black hair behind her ear.

She brought her cup to her lips. There was something delicate about her. Elegance that showed through her graceful movements. Measure, balance, order. But that wasn't all about her. There was sharpness in her eyes, in her cheekbones, in the curve of her eyebrows and the straight line of her nose. Something cutting, and something fierce. Wild but tamed. Silent but dangerous. Something like the whisper of fallen leaves when fall storms gathered their clouds.

Something that told him that Arashi Kareha-Priman was a lot more than she seemed.

The soft clinking noise of her cup interrupted his thoughts. When she put it down, her expression had hardened. Her black eyes were focused on her cup. She looked at him. "I shall give you all the information I have on the case. If I understood well, you may or may not choose to work on it after that, am I wrong?"

"No, you are right." Although accepting to study the request in person was a strong warranty that he would work on it. But he didn't like making promises he couldn't keep, so he kept that last thought to himself. "Tell me everything you know, I'll listen. I will also take any document you have."

"Fine." She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, opened them again. "My husband, Eugene, disappeared six months ago, along with the former head butler, Gayan Juma. They were both heading to the mansion, after returning from the Southern Peace auction, when the car was attacked. No bodies were found. Nothing of value was stolen either –or at least that I'm aware of – so I was told it was most likely an act of vengeance from Mafia rivalry. Which would make sense, I suppose, since Eugene had been blackmailed by an Anonymous a few weeks before his disappearance."

Killua frowned. "Could I see the letter?"

"Of course." She got up and brought a binder. She took the letter.

He examined it. It was typed and sounded like some poor quality blackmailing. He could write better blackmail letters when he was just six. "Did he have any known rival?"

"The Montsiege family. They were openly rivals, as they were both collectors of prized masterpieces. But Eleanora Montsiege, the head of the family, denied that she had written that."

"And you believe her."

She nodded, looking him in the eye. "I do. Eleanora has always been very open about her vehemence. If she had wanted to harm him, she would definitely have signed with her own hand." She paused. "I think she might as well have come here herself to stab him."

"So a straightforward rival," he deduced.

"Very. Eleanora takes pride in that. She doesn't feel the need to hide because she believes her victory is assured anyway."

Killua refrained a scoff. He took a look at the letter again. "Well, the letter sounds like a very standard blackmailing letter. It could be anyone. Its author was probably aware of the situation between the two families and snatched this opportunity to strike. Of course, the possibility that the Montsiege family could be involved still stands, but I wouldn't bet on that. Especially if the head of the family is as you described her."

"So we have the same opinion about this issue."

"It seems like we do."

She fell silent. "I had hired a few detectives before you since I could not think of talking to the police –you know the Code of Silence in the Mafia." As he nodded, she kept going. "They were all killed, or greatly injured."

A spark of interest fused at her words, but he remained impassible. "And those who were injured? Did they tell you anything about what happened to them?"

"Nothing. They gave up on the case and refused to talk to me any longer."

Or were _coerced_ not to talk to her any longer. "Were they hunters?"

"Some of them were. Crime hunters and blacklist hunters. They were injured, mostly. One was killed."

He crossed his legs. "So we have an aggressive opponent."

She tensed. "I couldn't withdraw that information from you. It has discouraged a lot of other people before you."

"That doesn't scare me." His last name alone had brought him more death threats than any aggressive anonymous killer ever would. From people who wanted to behead him and stuff his head to earn billions on the black market –and miserably failed – to dauntless wannabe Allies of Justice. And well, that was when people sick with vengeance weren't involved. He thought of Anita, the girl who had tried to kill him during the hunter exam, and wondered how many more Anitas would try to avenge the people he or his family had killed. "I'm more concerned about how solvable the issue is. Do you have any hint so far?"

"Very few. Apart from this letter, I have a single bullet, and the few reports the detectives got to write."

"What about the butler? Gayan Juma, if I remember well?"

"Nothing. Nothing that I know of."

He pondered the situation. "Yet."

She blinked, and there was hope in her eyes. "Would that mean…?"

He remained silent, lost in thought. His mind worked, twisted, buzzed with thoughts and speculations. Hypotheses flew and fought, ideas confronted and collapsed. He wrote scenarios of what could happen, what could have happened, what _would_ happen. Every neuron was wrung to think harder, to filter his thoughts and organize them. He looked at her. "I might work on this issue. I need some time to decide, but I will call you back."

"I understand," she assured, but her features were already lighter. Relieved. Because she had probably heard that when Killua Zoaldyeck considered taking a case, he had already started working on it, had probably even started thinking of solutions.

And in a way, she was right.

Later on, they discussed a few more points, including the various reactions of influent mobsters. Eugene Priman's disappearance had sent a shockwave through the Mafia World, like a cold shower suddenly splashing them. He had been one of the most peaceful among them, more focused on his personal ambitions than on power itself. He was just known as this quiet Renaissance collector who had meddled with the underworld in order to replenish his collection, this curious traveler, this passionate reader who had based all his wealth on the paper industry to nourish all his interests. How he of all mobsters had been targeted was beyond understanding –and beyond Arashi Kareha-Priman's understanding. The Mafia was now afraid of a vendetta against all its community.

That, of course, was one of the many possibilities Killua had envisaged. But not his favorite one –a _personal_ vendetta was more plausible to him. His intuition was prickling, and he trusted his intuition.

After their discussion, she gave him a few documents he would need –photos of the car, the exact address and pictures of the location of the impact, the previous detectives report, and the letter – as well as the little hints she had – the bullet among them.

She walked him herself to the entry gate, and he left the mansion with the binder.

During the whole time, he was toying with the bullet.

He knew where he would need to go.

* * *

 **4:30 P.M.**

Hana's shift was soon coming to an end. Which was a good thing, since Aleon Dove had changed his usual schedule. He wasn't drinking wine in the dark corner of the bar anymore. Instead, he was taking a nap, in his own room.

And that gave her a great opportunity to make her move.

The bar was nearly empty. She was waiting for her coworker to come so she could leave. As much as she wanted to go, she couldn't leave the bar without any attendance. So she stayed and waited. Dried a few glasses to pass the time. Made mental lists of what she needed to do. Speculated about what she would find in Aleon's room. And planned, planned everything.

The day before, she had somehow managed to get a list of all the people who had come to the bar –fortunately, there weren't too many – especially those around the time Aleon had woken up, but she hadn't found any link between them. Nor had she found anything interesting about those people. Most were people who often came to the bar, and yet Aleon had never reacted to their presence. So in short, there still wasn't any explanation or possible solution to Aleon's sudden panic.

Her coworker arrived on time, brooding and cold as usual. They exchanged a few brief words. Before she could leave, a notification popped up on the bar's interactive screen, a system the hotel had set up so their clients could request whatever they wanted without moving from their rooms.

"What is it?" she asked as her coworker opened the notification. Feigning to not know what it was about, even though she was its cause.

"Room 73 in the VIP area is requesting someone from the bar," he replied, his voice weary even though he had barely arrived.

"Oh, I can take care of that before I leave," she suggested, and his face lit up.

"Really? That would be really cool."

"Yeah, don't worry."

He thanked her one last time and she went to the VIP area.

Hacking the notification system had been pretty easy, and simulating a request from Aleon Dove's room had given her a good reason to wander in the corridors without seeming suspicious –the hotel was fraught with cameras. Aleon himself wouldn't even remember submitting the notification if he were asked anything.

She refrained a smirk. _That was too easy._

She made her way in the VIP area, conscious of the cameras at every corner, and stopped in front of Aleon's room. She straightened her shirt and acted as though she was knocking the door, waited a few seconds and opened the door. All for the cameras.

As soon as she was inside, she quickly closed the door. Aleon slept with the lights on, which wasn't all that surprising since he seemed paranoid lately. He was sleeping on his bed, on his stomach, legs and arms sprawled across the blanket.

She stayed near the door and examined the room, looking for any device that could register her presence. There was a camera hidden on top of the curtain rod. She wasn't in its range, but she would need to deactivate it in order to go anywhere near him. The camera's range didn't include the whole room; it was directed on Aleon only.

That, too, wasn't much of a surprise.

She moved quietly to the living-room area of the suite, checking for a computer storing the footage taken by the camera. There was none, but there was a cabinet big enough to contain one, with a lock. Raising an eyebrow, she swiftly walked to the cabinet and examined the lock. She could pick it, deactivate the cameras, and then look for the key to lock it back again once she could go near Aleon. There was a big chance he kept the key on him, or close enough.

She proceeded as planned. The cabinet opened without creaking. A computer sat inside, its cables coursing behind the planks. Apparently, hiding plug sockets in cabinets was a thing, and it was useful.

She checked on Aleon. He was still sound asleep. She started working on the computer. Soon enough, the camera was deactivated, and she closed the cabinet –just in case. Now, she needed to work fast so that the time lapse wouldn't be noticed on a fast-forward.

She fished in her pocket and extracted a few gadgets.

 _First, the microphones._

Small, sparkling, perfect for blending in with the other small, sparkling marbles decorating the edge of the windows. She moved to the first window, removed one of the glittering stones and glued the microphone in its place. She slid back the tiny strong glue in her pocket, along with the stone. She repeated the action of the other windows in the room, quick and efficient.

 _Second, the radar._

No matter what state he was in, Aleon Dove always wore the same cufflinks on all his blazers: silver circles with his initials in an elegant cursive font. She wasn't sure if he would notice one of them being entirely changed, but she didn't want to risk it. That was why she had requested a good friend of hers to make an exact replica of it. With a small cylinder-shaped radar painted in silver.

She opened the first drawer of the nightstand, took the box with Aleon's cufflinks, and replaced one of them with the replica. Carefully, she slid back the box in the drawer and closed it.

And breathed out.

She was done.

Or so she thought.

A good thing Hana had had to learn in her young career was that things didn't always go as planned. Hell, things _rarely_ went as planned. Dealing with humans meant dealing with uncertainty, and dealing with uncertainty meant… a lot of thwarted plans.

This time was no exception.

Aleon jolted upright with a sharp intake of breath. Panting. Cursing.

Startled, Hana immediately slid under the bed, trying to steady her heartbeats as she regained her calm. He hadn't seen her. Or at least, she hoped so. What would she do if he saw her under the bed? What would she _say_? ' _Oh, hi there! I was testing the floor! Very comfortable down there! Feel free to join me!_ '

Aleon moved on the bed, and she saw his legs as he stood up.

Had he felt her presence?

She quietly exhaled and observed him from her spot. He was pacing in the room. Agitated.

"He's here. He's here," he repeated, his words drowned by his erratic breath.

 _He?_

She narrowed her eyes. Aleon was panicking. That was the second time in two days. That was _too much_. Who did he fear? Whose presence did he feel? Why did he fear it that much?

"Dammit," he swore and sat on the bed, his feet a few inches from Hana's face. Then he stood again and walked to the living room. She couldn't hear him, but she heard him move something on the floor – a marble slab? She sucked in a breath. Then, he moved again. Walked. Toward the cabinet.

No.

No, no, _no_. He couldn't open the cabinet. _He couldn't open it_. She had to reactivate the camera and lock the cabinet before going out. If he saw she had picked the lock, if he saw the camera had been switched off, he would go crazy. She couldn't let that happen.

Before he reached the cabinet, she deftly lurched out of her hiding spot, silent as a cat. In a split second, she had crashed the edge of her hand on his nape, right where she knew she could make him faint without killing him, and he had collapsed in her arms. She allowed herself to breathe. Slowly, she slid an arm beneath his knees, and the other arm supported his upper body. She carried him to his bed. As she lay him on his bed, she remembered the slab he had moved and walked to the place the noise had come from. The slab was still open. And underneath it, a key. He didn't hide it near him, as she had first thought.

Relieved, she hurried back to the cabinet and reactivated the camera. She closed the cabinet, locked it, and put the key back under the marble slab.

When she finished making sure she had erased all evidence of her visit, she exited the room.

Now, all that was left to do for Aleon was listening, watching, and waiting.

* * *

 **5:45 P.M.**

Maes lived in a student residence close to the University.

Hana looked at her phone, where she had written the address, and looked up at her surroundings. She was walking on a pedestrian street in the campus, among the residences and the various study-related buildings. There were the Chemistry department and the Mathematics department, and a huge building that was the Mechanical Engineering department, and so much more.

She met a few students on her way, and some of them were around her age. A lot of them were on their way to the library, and she caught a few conversations about 'asshole teachers' and 'fucking hard exams' and laughs and jokes.

Her thoughts drifted to what she would have done if she hadn't decided to drop school to take the hunter exam. Perhaps she'd have been there, studying math or science and joining countless clubs and partying all night before holidays. Her dark circles would have been from sleepless exam cramming instead of sleepless criminal cases cramming.

Did she regret anything, though?

No. She liked her life as it was. It wasn't perfect –whose life was? – but it was there and she had what she wanted. She wanted more, always more, but she was on her way to growing and getting better and improving.

Just like those college students, she had her ambitions.

She stopped in front of Maes's residence. She flashed the badge on the door and opened it, climbed to the third floor and stopped in front of a door with Maes's name on it.

She unlocked it.

The room smelled of dust and humidity. The air felt damp and heavy. Maya had told her she hadn't cleaned it yet because she was afraid of washing away an evidence. Hana slowly walked inside, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. The shutters were closed and almost no light filtered through the window, except a faint glow coming from the very top of the window. She opened the shutters and then the window, enjoying the fresh March air.

She stepped back, looked at the wide desk below the window, the bar in front of the kitchen, the bed against the wall and the plywood closet near the entrance door. The furniture was rather simple, something she'd have expected to find in any student's room. She did notice, though, a ladybug-shaped clock on top of the bed, and smiled a little.

As she swiveled, she realized the apartment was small enough for her to easily project her En through it. Which meant she could use Sae.

She flexed her fingers, and a gun conjured in her hand. She squeezed her fingers around the cold grip, feeling a surge of power through her. The gun's weight in her hand made her more confident. As if she were stronger, better.

And she was.

A bluish transparent screen appeared next to her.

 **Which mode would you like to use?**

 **1\. S**

 **2\. A**

 **3\. E**

Her hand hovered near the screen, and she finally pressed her index on the second option.

 **Analyzer mode activated.**

 **Please choose an available version below.**

A row of squares extended below the question, but only three of them were glowing –a gun, a long wristband, and a hand. The others were dull and empty, like locked objects in video games that required a higher level to be unlocked. She clicked on the wristband square, and her gun divided itself into tiny pieces and moved around her wrist. The pieces reattached in a tight bracelet around her wrist and up to half her forearm. A small scanner through which she could focus her nen sat on top of the bracelet.

 **Analyzer 2.0 activated.**

She stared at the object around her arm, checking for any apparent flaw. She had spent four years thoroughly developing Sae, her nen ability. She was fourteen when she had started thinking of its concept, a year after she passed the hunter exam and learned nen. And still, it wasn't perfect, wasn't even over. There was still a lot to improve, a lot of functionalities to add, a lot of possibilities to explore –hence the dull squares, her way to concretize her room for improvement. She dreamed that someday, all the squares would be full and glowing. It would probably take her years, even decades, but it would happen. She swore on that.

She took a step back, extended her arm in front of her, her fist clenched. The fingers of her other hand glided over the screen, swift and fast from habit. She chose the range, the power, the intensity, and pretty much filtered through every option she had added in Sae. As she did so, the scanner switched on.

She took a deep breath. Enhanced her nen into Ren. Extended her Ren into En. Focused her Gyo into the scanner. And scanned. The first half of the room, then the second. A few lines of analysis irregularly buffered on the screen.

 **Scan completed.**

She lowered her arm and glanced at the screen, scrolling up to gather the information. Her eyes stopped on a particular line.

 **Percentage of aura concentration estimated at:**

 **below 1%.**

She narrowed her eyes. The percentage was low, but not low enough to her. Her scanner only found traces of awakened nen, which meant that the percentage should have been zero for an average non nen-user. It either meant that a nen user had been there and had somehow left traces of nen, or that Maes had unknowingly awakened his aura through some kind of activity, and that his aura had rubbed off on his work.

And that _wasn't_ exactly the kind of things she'd expected to find in a college student's room.

Questions rushed through her. She started looking through Maes's room. Thoroughly so. Everywhere. Beneath the mattress and between the books and inside the pillows. She opened every cabinet, scanned every book, every binder and every lidded bowl to find anything that could be a trace of nen.

But there was nothing. The percentage was too low for her scanner to tell her where exactly it was concentrated. She only knew that it was in the half where the desk and the bed and the closet were because in the other half alone the percentage was zero, but that wasn't enough. If she could find what object was responsible for the nen, then perhaps her scanner could give her a more precise percentage.

Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. Twenty. Twenty-five.

After half an hour of painstaking search, she stood up in the middle of the room, hands on her hips and dust on her cheeks, and bit her lips. Nothing. She had found nothing.

She pushed her hair away from her forehead and sighed. She thought again of all the things she had turned upside down and all the drawers she had pulled and how none of those had given her any satisfaction. No positive result.

Could it be that her scanner had been wrong?

No. That wasn't possible. Sae still had a lot of flaws, but it had never been wrong about detecting nen.

Far from being demotivated, Hana stared at the furniture before her. An idea hit her. She moved toward the desk and opened the drawer, stripping it of all its content. She gave a small tap on the wooden base of the drawer and tried to remove it. If Maes really had something to hide, then he might as well have found secret compartments that nobody knew of. Not even his sister. _Especially_ not his sister. But as the base of the drawer didn't budge, she put all the things she had removed back into it and closed it. She moved to the second drawer, then the third, but the result was the same.

Which only left one option: the closet. She took the piles of clothes inside and put them on the bed. When she gave a small tap on the wooden back wall of the closet, it sounded hollow. With a small flashlight, she sought for holes or hidden traps or anything that could hint a hidden compartment. The closet was black, so it was hard to find any shadow. But it was in smooth plywood, so if she tried to touch the surface, she might find something. She put the flashlight away and slid her hands on the back wall, focused on every bump her fingertips ran on.

Her right index stopped on something. A tiny, imperceptible gap. She ran her finger down the gap, realized it kept going in a long line. She grinned, content with that small win.

Since her nails weren't thin enough to insert in the line, took a small knife from her boot and traced the line with the blade, enlarging the tiny gap in the back wall. When it was big enough, she stuck the blade on the top part of the line, shoved it inside, and bent it sideways. A big plank came away. She grabbed it and pulled. Its lack of resistance showed it had been removed before, which confirmed her suspicions. She put the plank against the closet and looked inside the compartment.

A dusty sketchbook lay there, along with a few small books, a large laptop in its bag and a binder placed vertically.

She took them and immediately scanned the laptop, the books and the binder, which didn't give anything. That only left the sketchbook.

She frowned. Determined.

And scanned the sketchbook.

 **Percentage of aura concentration estimated at:**

 **0.82 %.**

Relief flooded her. But it was short-lived because it was soon replaced by loads of questions.

Whose nen was it? There was no doubt to her that these objects were Maes's. The books were borrowed from the library and Maes's name was the last one in the list of people who had borrowed them. Unless someone had hidden them there, but there was no sense to that. That person would need to have constant access to his room, and nobody had come there since Maya last did.

Those were Maes's belongings.

She turned her attention toward the objects, hoping to find answers in them.

The books were small guides on what depression, schizophrenia, and other mental illnesses were. She often saw those kinds of books in the psychological and medical sections of bookshops, and in her father's office. She recognized one of them as a book he had recommended to a patient, written by one of his colleagues. They covered the biggest points about mental illnesses and were usually more reliable than internet websites –or so she had been told.

She took the binder and skimmed through prescriptions of antidepressants given by psychiatrists, along with various medication names that she only recognized from their name but didn't know what they were used for, and post-its for meetings with therapists.

Something twitched inside her chest.

She imagined Maes borrowing those books at the library, reading them frantically to know if the symptoms applied to him. She imagined him secretly meeting with doctors, desperate to make his issues go away. She imagined him trying his best not to let it show when he was with his sister. She imagined all these and more, and the knot in her chest tightened. What had happened to turn his life upside down in just a few weeks? A boy who had everything, suddenly trampled to death by issues bigger than he was within a few weeks. No wonder Maya went crazy over his death. And now, even though Hana had the proof he had issues, the question of why these issues had started lingered.

Questions, so many questions.

Finally, she eyed the sketchbook. She took it, dusting its rough cover.

A shiver ran down her spine. There was something unsettling about the sketchbook. Something almost eerie, with the grim smudges on the front page and the dark spots of ink splattered here and there. A foreboding seized her, urging her to stop.

She opened it nonetheless.

And quickly understood the bad feeling she had had.

The bad, and very _familiar_ feeling.

* * *

 **A/N:** So here you go! That was a slightly shorter chapter, but I hope you still liked it. And sorry for the tinyyyy cliffie. Truth is, I love ending chapters with cliffhangers. (feel free to throw tomatoes at me)

Oh, you see that quote here? "Apparently, hiding plug sockets in cabinets was a thing, and it was useful"? That's actually something I saw in my apartment and it got me so confused I decided to use it for the story. It's not so convenient to keep the closet open to plug in my latop charger, but I guess Aleon found a better use for it! Also, it took me months to realize that 1.2 was not, in fact, below 1...

 **What did you think about the chapter?** About the introduction to Hana's nen ability? About the Hanallua interactions? I'm curious to see your feedback! I love every single review I get, they make me feel like my work is worthwhile. (Picture a bunch of hearts here, since Fanfiction won't let me express my love.)

Anyway, sorry for rambling. I'm so excited and so eager to show you what I've written.

Thanks for reading and see you in two weeks! I love you all!


	4. Resurface

**A/N:** Hey there! It feels like it's been YEARS oh God! Or well, I say that but I'm thankful I have the first chapters ready because... exams are coming… *cries*.

Anyway, you'll meet some of Hana's and Killua's friends in this chapter! They were so fun to write. I'm trying to be smooth and introduce new OCs little by little but nahhh, here are FOUR new OCs for you!

Again, thank you so, so , SO much for your support, your most lovely reviews that fill me with joy, your messages and your questions! Every single notification means the world to me. So I say it all the time, but thank you guys, for everything!

Okay on to the chapter!

* * *

Chapter 3: **Resurface**

* * *

The drawings lay in her hands. Macabre canvases of macabre dreams. Nightmares all over the paper, in white, black, red. White fogs choking shrieking faces, black tendrils ensnaring writhing bodies. Red fire. Red blood. Red scars. Faces distorted by screams. Long, long screams.

 _A perpetual scream._

Her eyes roamed over the horrors, the atrocities that she _knew_ were what Maes had seen. The monochrome pictures, the uncertain coloring, the stains and the ripped paper and the grainy surfaces.

 _A monochrome, shivering picture._

She took a deep breath, realized her heart was pounding, a fist of fear hammering in her chest. She tried hard to be professional, to tell herself those drawings had nothing to do with _that_ , but the feeling was just there. Lodged in her chest, nestled so deep she couldn't pretend it wasn't there, couldn't ignore its screeching cries.

She had already seen those pictures. Or well, not exactly.

She had _lived_ them.

Carefully, she flipped through the pages, trying to ignore the shock that added with each page. Trying to ignore the lump in her chest and the pain in her head. She stared at the blurry faces, the tearful cheeks and the uncoiling bodies, the tense limbs and the deformed cries. The blood, the scarred skin, the bruises.

She closed the sketchbook. All these eerie drawings were affecting her more than they should. She swallowed, tried to untie the knot in her throat and reason herself.

There could be a hundred reasons as to why those drawings looked so familiar. And the most plausible was simply her own biased mind. She had lived through a painful experience, so she was projecting that on Maes's drawings.

It had to be that.

It seemed logical.

Right?

 _Right?_

She bit her lower lip, lost in thought. She couldn't erase the sinister drawings from her mind. Their uncanny familiarity. Their twisted silhouettes that seemed to grab her through the pictures. She could almost feel her own bones breaking and her own entrails knotting.

But no. No, just no. She couldn't let her personal life affect her job so much. Not anymore.

There had to be an explanation.

First things first, she should let Maya know. Maya surely knew about those drawings.

… Which was why Maes had hidden them in a secret compartment in his closet. Obviously.

She breathed out. She had to take her mind off this issue. Besides, she had to see the bright side: she had found some valuable bits of information about Maes. A good start for her. A good lead to follow.

If she repeated that over and over, then perhaps she'd start to believe it herself.

She grabbed the books, the binder, and her bag, and hesitated before taking the sketchbook. As if it were haunted, cursed, possessed. Then, she rushed out of the apartment, locked it behind her, and hurried to her own apartment.

She couldn't bear the feel of the sketchbook against her skin for too long.

* * *

 **7:20 P.M.**

The first thing Hana did when she arrived home was shoving the notebook in a place she couldn't see it. She only felt relief when it was hidden in her bag for a meeting she would plan with Maya, out of her sight. But not out of her mind. Because no matter how hard she tried to get it out of her head, it stayed, clutching to her like a leech to a dying animal. Rooted in her mind, spreading like weeds in a garden.

The second thing she did was switching on the laptop she had found in his closet. She had already seen the small laptop he used for college, but she didn't know he had a second one, much bigger. His college laptop was full of notes and work-related programs, but the smaller one seemed more like… a personal laptop. With more art-related files, and drawing programs. And, most importantly, messaging programs.

When the laptop was connected to her Wi-Fi, she broke into Maes's Facebook account –he had activated auto-fill for his Facebook password. To have more answers. Answers, and _words_ coming from Maes himself. Not drawings. Not nightmares. She skimmed through all his chats, his private messages and group conversations.

But his chats mostly consisted of planned parties with friends, and they all went back to when he was healthy. A lot of people had posted messages on his wall after his death, to support his family and praise him. She closed his Facebook, and broke into his other accounts, too. She roamed until she stumbled on a lengthy conversation in Skype, with someone she assumed was his best friend.

Ten minutes later, she was still at it.

The friend had initiated the conversation, out of worry for Maes. Maes had replied, reluctant, at first, and secretive, but like a dam breaking under a river's weight, he had opened up.

And his feelings flooded the chat.

Her eyes picked certain sentences apart.

' _I don't know what's wrong with me. Like, I really can't tell anymore if I'm depressed or something else entirely._ '

' _I see weird colors and shapes and hurt people or something. And it hurts... everywhere. It screams. It begs…_ '

' _I don't even know what hurts and what doesn't hurt.'_

' _I can't sleep anymore._ '

' _I just want this to end._ '

' _I don't understand_. I don't understand a damn thing.'

She shut her eyes closed.

 _I don't understand._

Maes had no more answers than his sister did. Nobody knew what had happened to him. Not even himself.

She sighed, his words echoing in her mind as her own, merely three years ago. A part of her believed this was no coincidence, but another, stronger, kept denying it.

The ostrich's head in the sand.

She focused back on the conversation. It kept flowing for a few more lines in which his friend had tried to convince him to talk to his sister. But Maes had kept refusing, putting his sister's well-being over his own sanity.

There, Hana had the proof that he had hidden his issues from his sister, but it didn't explain anything. And if even Maes couldn't say what happened, then who could?

A voice roared in her mind. _You can. You know what happened to him._

No.

No, she didn't. Not _yet_.

She had to confirm it. Until then, nothing was sure. And especially not _that_.

The conversation ended with the friend saying they were coming over. The last message was three days before Maes's death.

She grabbed a notebook and wrote the name of the friend, as well as their Skype account. Then, she stood up and went to the kitchen to grab something to eat.

Her phone buzzed on the counter while she was doing the dishes. She dried her hands and quickly checked who was calling. Her eyes lit up when she saw his name, and she answered.

"Hi dad," she greeted. She wasn't expecting a call from him, so the surprise felt twice as good. She always loved talking to him. And he was calling her at a perfect time. She really could use some nice, sweet contact.

"Hi there, sweetheart. I finished a bit earlier so I thought I could drop by and say hi, are you home –and free?"

"Yes, and yes! It would make me so happy actually."

"I'll be there in about ten minutes then, okay?"

"Okay, be careful!"

He hung up.

She grinned, staring at her phone. She felt so happy to know she was going to see him. Her worries all lifted for a moment, leaving more room for the lightness she felt when she knew she would see one of her parents.

She rushed to the living room, tried to busy herself with something while she waited. She pushed a few books on the shelves, swept the floor, brought a plate with two glasses. Then, she checked her emails until she heard the doorbell ring.

She jumped to her feet and ran to open the door.

There her father stood, his usual gentle smile on his face. "Sweetheart," he called as she hugged him as tight as she could. He put his arms around her. "I've missed you so, so much."

She melted, so safe in her father's arms. So protected and relieved and loved. So far from sinister drawings and bad memories. She always, _always_ felt good when he was around. It was crazy how powerful his soft aura was.

She broke the hug. They stared at each other for a moment, and laughed. "I'm pretty sure we saw each other last week, but I still miss you so much," he noted.

"Same here. I'm so happy that you dropped by! Come on, let's drink something."

He closed the door behind her as she went to the kitchen to fetch for some drinks. "I brought some pastries. We could eat them while we talk," he said.

"Oh, thanks! What do you want to drink?" she asked from the kitchen while he sat down and put his briefcase next to him.

"What do you have?"

She opened the fridge. "Pomegranate syrup, lemonade, orange juice, and, um –" she looked deeper and moved a plate. "And cranberry juice," she completed her list, carefully omitting the alcoholic beverages.

"Oh. I'll have a Malibu then."

"…"

"Oh come on, I know you're a big girl now."

She giggled. "Oops. Malibu it is then." She took the bottle and joined him. "Never thought I'd have a Malibu with you of all people."

"I can drink, too."

"Mama told me you have a hard time with alcohol."

"… She's not wrong."

"How did you get here, by the way? You had the duplicate keys with you?"

"Oh, no. I was about to call you when a nice young man opened the door for me."

"There are nice young men in this place? Wow. You gotta introduce him to me."

"You can't miss him. Tall, lean, elegant. With—" He searched for the word. "—Unique hair. Fluffy white hair."

She blinked. "He does seem like quite an impression." She pictured the tousled white hair, the ice blue eyes, the elegant gait. Yep. Definitely Killua.

Her father smiled. "It's been almost three years and I'm still not used to not having you around."

"I think you say that every time you see me," she laughed.

"Because it's true. I feel that way every time I see you." He took his glass and took a sip from it. He grimaced. "Damn it's good, but it's strong."

"Strong? It's practically juice to me," she teased him.

"I'm afraid I can't compete with you. I'd probably get drunk with the smell of vodka alone."

She chuckled. "How are you gonna get home? You want me to drive you home?"

He arched an eyebrow, pretending to be offended —and failing, since he was obviously amused. "Go ahead, make fun of your old father."

She crinkled her nose in an amused way. But the light mood dropped a bit when she changed the topic. "I was given a new case to work on, by the way," she announced, grabbing a macaroon.

"What kind of case?" he asked, more seriously.

"Unexplained suicide. A college student who killed himself. Everybody around him was shocked. Nobody could understand or explain. I looked a bit into the case, and he had problems he was hiding from his family. I think he took antidepressants and other things, though I'm not sure what they are."

Her father listened, frowning. "Want me to check?"

"Yeah, that'd help me a lot." She fetched the list of medication she had found in the binder, and gave it to him.

He skimmed through the list. "Those were prescribed to him?"

"Yeah."

He nodded. "He was on a sertraline monotherapy. He was also prescribed side medication to treat anxiety disorders and insomnia —or at least to help to treat them," he said, and it was the doctor speaking this time.

"So nothing unusual?"

"No. He was given what is often prescribed for major depression disorder," he assured.

She took a deep breath. "He used a lot of painkillers, too."

"I can see that. The same medication. Works for headaches as well as any other type of ache."

"So nothing unusual?"

He settled his gaze on her. "Well, on a medical side, nothing unusual. But I guess the big picture is a lot different. What is odd is how quickly that happened."

"And how quickly it was over," she added under her breath, but he heard her and nodded. She thought again of the sketchbook, of her fears and sudden worry. She wondered for a second if she could talk to her father, to see if her fears were justified, but quickly refrained from it. Her father had suffered a lot from the consequences of her failed mission, three years ago. She still remembered him bent over her bed, pale and dead scared for the life of his only child, panicking, and powerless. He couldn't save her, because he couldn't know what had happened. Only she knew. The only other witnesses were either dead or on the run.

She closed her eyes, trying to forget the lump in her throat.

She reopened them to the concerned face of her father. "You okay, honey?"

She forced a smile. "Yeah. I was just thinking about how I'd address the issue."

"Don't overwork yourself. And try to stay objective," he suggested. She nearly flinched, wondering if he had seen through her.

"I'll do that. Thanks for helping me."

"Anytime." And after a pause: "If you need anything, talk to me. I want to help you. I know I'm not always very helpful, but I would do my best."

A pang of guilt hit her. The memory of her father feeling powerless and helpless hit her, and she felt horrible for risking him feeling that way again. She was trapped between two decisions, none more enviable than the other.

She was tempted to tell him, to just tell him everything she had seen and share her burden with him, but she stopped herself before she could say anything.

 _Don't scare him for nothing_ , she thought, still clinging to the idea that her worry might be unfounded. _This is my burden to carry_.

"I'll run to you if anything happens," she finally said.

He smiled, thankful. "Please do." He finished his glass and grimaced. "Anyway, I should probably go. Before I get too drunk and your mom gets mad at me." He got up. She walked him to the door.

"Just tell her you got drunk over half a glass of Malibu, and she'll laugh so hard she'll forget she's mad."

He chuckled. "Well, everybody's got their own achievements. Some people can handle loads of alcohol. I can handle your mother's temper."

"Now _that's_ an achievement. Nobody can handle mom's temper. It burns everything in the way. Like wildfire."

"Nobody but me."

"True."

"Though that's because she _lets_ me handle her," he added. She could hear the hints of endearment in his voice and it warmed her up. Her parents still had each other. She was lucky enough for that too.

They arrived near the entrance door. He stopped, and turned to face her. "Are you gonna be alright?"

"Yeah, don't worry. I've handled worse cases."

But his gaze lingered. He wasn't talking about the case. "Okay." He pulled her into a warm hug.

"I love you, dad."

"I love you, too. If you ever feel like it, come drop by at home a bit. To rest a bit."

She tightened her embrace. She didn't want to let go, to go back to that world where the sketchbook existed. She wanted to stay safe in his arms. "I will. As soon as I have a moment, I will."

He broke the hug. "I'll get going."

"Okay. Text me when you're home. To make sure you didn't collapse in the street."

"Alright. If that can reassure you."

And then he left.

She closed the door behind him, feeling as empty as she always did when she parted with someone she loved.

She was alone.

With the sketchbook.

She leaned against the wall, clutching her phone in her hand. And desperate for company. Something to make her forget, to take her mind off the issue. She unlocked her phone and browsed through the contacts, stopping on a particular name. Thomas, her best friend. Her thumbs ran on the screen. 'Hey nerd, can I see you tomorrow?'

She waited for the reply, but after a few minutes, she locked her screen. Thomas either texted back right away or two hours later. There were no in-between. She'd have to find something to busy herself with. Anything. A case, perhaps. Just not the Maple case.

As she went back to the living-room, her eyes fell on the opened box of macarons.

A thought popped in her mind.

 _I was about to call you and a nice young man opened the door for me._

Perhaps…

 _You can't miss him._

Killua.

* * *

 **9:15 P.M.**

He was sitting on the same bench when she arrived at the court, with a bowl of food for the cat.

He rose his gaze and smirked a little. "Missed me already?"

"So much, you have no idea," she joked. Though only partly.

"Your cat's been waiting for you."

"Has she?" She moved closer to the bush, and the cat meowed. "Aww, she has." She put the bowl on the floor and knelt to caress the cat's back.

"So dedicated. You do that every night?"

"I try. Makes me feel useful."

He didn't reply, but she felt his gaze on her back, intense, piercing. "You okay?"

The question struck her. She glanced at him, feeling exposed. She had come there to take her mind off the issue. Not to talk about it. "Yeah?" she replied, giving her most oblivious face.

He held her stare for a moment, then looked away. "You're an excellent liar. I almost believed you," he said, his voice void of sarcasm.

She frowned, and turned her attention back to the cat. Frustrated that he could see through her, and frustrated that she couldn't think about anything else but the sketchbook.

As if sensing her feelings, the cat backed away from her touch and hissed. Hana's hand hovered, waiting for her to calm down. Hesitantly, the cat came back to the bowl. Hana wasn't sure whether she could touch her or not.

"You don't have to talk about it," he said, softer, with a slight hint of awkwardness. An attempt at being considerate.

She sighed and straightened up. She joined him on the bench, crashing next to him.

"Please bury me," she started, tilting her head back until it rested on the edge of the bench's back.

"With a casket?"

"Yeah. A mahogany casket. I've always liked the word mahogany. It sounds funky. It's like 'avocado', but for wood."

"… Huh."

"And paint it in red. Or wait, no. _Burgundy_." She eyed him from the corner of her eyes. "Like your sweater. Very nice sweater, by the way. Looks great with your pants and your boots."

He didn't reply. Instead, he stared at her. "Did you drink anything on your way here?"

"This is sober-me."

"Drunk-you must be quite a sight."

She snorted. "I wasn't done describing my grave."

"Well, go ahead."

"Okay. I want my grave to be put near a nightclub, so I can haunt it and keep partying with everybody. I'll be that ghost rocking the dancefloor. Moving my ectoplasmic hips to the beat."

"Sounds fair," he said after a short silence.

"Also, flowers. I want flowers on my grave. Watered every once in a while. With vodka."

A light touch on her arm interrupted her rambling. She sat correctly and looked at him. He was giving her a candy. "You should eat this. It will untangle the mess of your neurons."

She stared at the candy in his hand. "This isn't a Snickers."

"No, it's not."

She took it. "What is it?"

He gawked at her. As if she had said something rude or taboo. "It's a chocorobot. The best candy in the whole world."

"Oh." She grinned. "And you shared it with me. I'm privileged."

"Shh. Just eat." He glanced at her. "Or bleed."

She smiled, a warm and thankful smile. "Thanks."

The corner of his lips tipped up, for a second. He ate his own chocorobot, leaning back in the seat.

She discretely studied his chiseled profile while he grew thoughtful, lingering on his features for the first time. Her gaze dwelled on his defined cheekbones, his straight nose, his sharp jaw. The curve of his dark eyelashes, the brightness in his eyes. His full lips. The more she stared, the more she noticed new details that carved his beauty into something unique. It wasn't just any beauty. It was the cutting kind. The kind that stood out. A perfect balance of grace and edges. Rough and raw yet gentle and delicate.

She turned back her attention to her chocolate before he could catch her looking. And broke the silence. "You met my father, earlier. He came to visit and you opened the entrance gate for him."

"That was your father?" she nodded. "I should have guessed. Green eyes, greige hair."

"You left quite a good impression on him."

"Of course I did."

"He said you were nice and elegant."

He put a hand on his heart and shook his head in a smug way. "Damn. Just nineteen and already snatching fathers' hearts."

"You're gonna go far in life."

"I know, I know."

She finished her chocolate and offered to throw away both of their wrappers.

When she came back, she considered talking to him, in the end. Without going too deep, because it was far too private, but just evoking the issue, brushing it would be enough. Thomas hadn't replied yet, but she wasn't even sure she could sleep at all with all these thoughts simmering in her head. She needed to relieve her tension for a moment and let it out. She needed to _talk_. To someone, anyone. And Killua seemed perfect as a listener. He was an external party to her issues, knew nothing about her, and didn't care enough to worry or be affected by her problems –or downright panic like she suspected her father would.

He could probably remain objective as she talked to him. Calm. Unfazed. Composed. Nothing to fuel her own fear. He had this air of safety and control around him, in the smooth way he moved and held his head, in his clear tone and his unwavering gaze, and that was all she needed at this moment. Someone solid to hold on to.

"Can I ask you something?" she said, and he nodded. "How do you usually deal with invasive doubts? Like some doubts that cling to you and you're not sure what to do with them."

He pondered his answer. "I try to see if my doubts are justified. And do everything in my power to deny or confirm them." It sounded so easy when he said it. And perhaps it was, for him. He looked so poised, like he had control over everything. She envied him.

"Even if the doubt is small?" she asked, even though her own doubt sure as hell wasn't small.

"Even if I have the slightest doubt."

"I try to do that, too. Usually. I know that favoring or avoiding some possibilities can be dangerous," she added. She thought of Maya and how she had tried to avoid the alternative of her brother hiding his issues from her. Hana herself had kept insisting, so that Maya didn't avoid the path that hurt her, and yet here she was. In Maya's shoes. Pretending that drawing the curtains would wipe away the sun.

"It is. Because usually, your mind chooses the solution that hurts the least. Not the one that is more likely to happen."

"Yeah. That happens to you, too?"

He arched an eyebrow. "Of course it does."

"And how do you get rid of it?"

"I try to be objective, just to give myself some time to be rational. And I force myself to look the issue right in the eye. Confront it, and confront all the doubts."

"Until they're not doubts anymore, but certainties," she finished for him. And shuddered at the thought. Her hands grew cold as she remembered the endless hours on the hospital bed, purging the consequences of her failure. The guilt, the loss, the pain.

"Or until they're proved impossible," he added, and she wondered if he had noticed her reaction. She was almost sure he had.

She relaxed. "Okay. I'll try to do that."

His gaze didn't leave her. "Just stay calm. Or try to."

"Yeah. You're right." She smiled at him. "Thank you."

He shrugged. "No problem."

"Anyway, I should go." She stretched, already feeling lighter. "But, um, before I go… I was wondering if perhaps you'd be okay with talking to me more often. I mean, to stay in contact –if you don't mind. If it's okay for you. To just talk and –"

"You want my phone number?"

"Yeah! That." She grinned and blushed a bit from embarrassment. "Would you be okay with exchanging phone numbers?"

He was already on his phone. "What's your number? I'll text you."

"Okay!"

He seemed so calm, but she was excited, and it felt refreshing after all these gloomy thoughts. He seemed to enjoy her company, and she definitely enjoyed his. Which meant he was a potential friend. A potential _friendship_. A spark in the midst of all these macabre dreams.

Her phone buzzed with his text. She snorted. It read, 'Yo, this is your king speaking.' She shot a playful look at him, and met with his cocky smirk. "I'd have guessed it was you without even knowing."

"I always leave a strong impression. You can ask your dad."

"Psh." She put her phone in her pocket. "Thanks for your contact info. I swear I'll try not to harass you."

"Heh, you can always try. Doesn't mean I'll reply."

"Aw." She stood up. "And also, thanks for tonight."

"What for?" he asked, confused.

"For listening and talking."

He blinked. "No problem. If that… helps."

"It does."

He gave a crooked, almost shy smile. A smile she had never seen on him, but she liked it. It made him look younger. "Bye, then, I guess."

"Bye!"

She left, feeling lighter than when she'd come. She was thankful for his presence in the court.

He and her father had given her a reason not to call this day an entirely shitty day.

* * *

 **Friday, March 20** **th** **.**

 **11:45 A.M.**

Thomas was tidying up his apartment when Hana arrived. He had replied late the night before –as she had expected him to – but he had told her to come over.

"Hi dork," he greeted her.

"Bear hug!" she exclaimed and rushed in his arms.

He chuckled. "Living up to your reputation, huh?"

"Which? Insufferable dork or huge hug-monster?" She asked as she broke the hug.

"Both. Both alright."

She grinned. "Where's June?"

"Somewhere, I dunno. Probably on his way home. You two will have the pleasure of dorking around me soon enough."

"Yay! Fellow dork is on his way!"

He rolled eyes. "You want something to drink?"

"Water, please."

"Heh, so you can drink water? You're not allergic?"

"No, not yet. But my blood is probably gonna turn into wine someday."

He came back with two glasses of water. "I thought so." He glared at her. "Easy on the drinks, okay?"

"Yes, dad."

She took a gulp of water and looked around the place. "God, are you moving out or something?"

He glanced behind him, as if to check why she was asking that. "No? Is her majesty having trouble breathing in this… messy place?"

"Yeah, kinda. Seriously, you disappoint me." She shook her head.

"Be thankful that it's just messy and not filthy."

She moved a hand to her forehead. "The thought alone makes me sick," she sighed in a dramatic way, pretending to faint. "But more seriously, it's more… crowded than usual."

"Yeah, I bought a bigger bookshelf. There were books everywhere –even in the kitchen – and it was a horrible sight."

"It still is," she noted.

"Shut up. At least it's clean."

"Like it's an accomplishment."

Thomas's apartment was big enough for two people, but it looked much smaller with all the towers of books that rose from the floor. His new bookshelf took an entire wall. It was empty, except for a few books and a photo of June. A small smile tugged at her lips. Priorities set straight.

"You wanted to talk about something?" he asked, and there was some concern in his voice.

She nodded. "I'm working on a case. A fishy suicide."

"Okay?"

She explained everything to him. The prescriptions she had found in Maes's binder, the books, the sketchbook. Maes saying he didn't understand what was happening to him, the way he had described his feelings. The drawings. The familiar sights, thoughts, feelings.

When she was done, Thomas was still calm, and she was thankful for that. But she could pinpoint the worry on his face, through his pursed lips and his slight frown.

He didn't say anything for a moment, as if he were processing what she had said.

"So he's back?" he risked.

"I don't know yet. But it's too particular to be a coincidence."

"Yeah, I see what you mean. But why would he have pushed this boy to suicide? He always killed people himself, from what I remember. Unless he changed his… ways."

"Not always."

He frowned. "How come? Who else did he push to suicide?" When she looked down at her hands, he understood and flinched. "No. You mean…?" he tried, and she knew he didn't dare to say it. "Your friend? Feri?"

"Yeah. He pushed Feri to suicide." The thought was painful. Feri, her sweet Feri and his bad puns and his blushes. Frozen in death with tears in his eyes and a bloody hole in his chest.

"I thought he had died on the spot…"

"Feri's ability was making explosions. Everything he touched could explode if he wanted it to, although it was draining and he couldn't do it a lot. He used it a lot during the fight against the killer. Then, the killer made his move. He used a nen curse. And after being hit by the killer's curse, Feri made his last attack." She looked at her knuckles, bracing herself. "He exploded his own heart."

Thomas widened his eyes. "That's horrible."

She could only agree with that. She had seen his blood all over the place, dripping from the shattered furniture and the steel bars popping from the broken walls like crooked branches. She closed her eyes.

Thomas's hand on hers pulled her back to reality. The contact was so comforting.

She smiled. "I'm alright," she assured and squeezed his hand. "But I wouldn't mind holding your hand a bit."

"I know." He narrowed his eyes. "Perhaps the killer's ability –the curse thing you mentioned – is to push people to suicide. With varying speed, I guess."

"That's a possibility. The killer could be a manipulator. I'll try to check if the previous kills could have been masked suicides. To ensure this theory."

"Are you gonna be fine?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I hope."

"I'm here if you need me. One call and I fly to your place, okay?"

"Okay."

The sound of rattling keys suddenly changed the mood. The door opened to June, who carried his guitar and his backpack inside after closing the door with his foot. "Hey there," he greeted. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Yeah, I was holding hands with her and you ruined the mood. Idiot."

"I'm so sorry," June replied in a playful tone as he threw his bag near the door, put his guitar against the wall and rearranged his short ponytail. "Too bad I'm just your boyfriend, right?" he bent to kiss Thomas and ruffled Hana's hair. "Hi, fellow dork."

"I spent ten minutes untangling my hair this morning!" she fought, but he just laughed.

"You're gonna spend another ten, then."

Thomas pointed at him. "This is what I have to put up with every day."

"Hey, I have to put up with your grumpy ass every day, so you can't complain," June said from the kitchen. He came back with a bowl of cereals.

"I cooked lunch," Thomas pointed out.

June blinked. "I know. That's exactly why I'm eating cereals."

Thomas scowled at him, but June just laughed. "Is everything okay, by the way?" he looked at Hana, and she shrugged.

"I don't know. I could either be very lucky or completely fucked, so… I don't know."

June frowned. "On a scale from ordering pizza to Thomas cooking, how bad are these issues?" Thomas glared at him.

She took a deep breath. "Thomas cooking and _forcing_ you to eat."

June put his bowl on the table. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry." He crashed on the sofa next to her and hugged her.

"Thanks, June," she said as he let go. June liked to joke about everything, but he had understood she was in a pinch.

"My cooking isn't that bad."

June raised an eyebrow. "Dude, you empty the salt cellar every time you cook."

"I gotta agree with him on that," Hana said. "I swear after eating your cooking I can find salt crystals between my teeth."

"Ha, ha, hilarious," Thomas grumbled. "By the way, Sandy left me all her math notes from her freshman college year. And I have my physics notes from grade twelve. Dad found them last time while cleaning around. I kept them for you."

She grinned. "Oh, thank you so much."

"You're gonna have to bear with my sister's horrid handwriting, though."

"That's okay, I can read Sandy's handwriting. What happened to your math notes?"

"I burnt them."

"Of course," she commented.

He disappeared into another room, leaving her with June.

"You know what it's like," June said, looking at the door. "Tom and math."

"A love/hate relationship."

"Nah, more like a hate/hate relationship. I'm pretty sure math hates Tom as much as Tom hates math," he joked.

"It's a good thing books like Tom as much as Tom likes books, then."

"Yeah, I guess. And music. Tom and his piano. The other love story."

"After yours," she added.

He gave her a crooked smile, his brown eyes laughing. "After ours."

Thomas came back at this moment. "What nonsense are you saying?"

"I said you were mean and stupid," June pretended to sneer.

"You must know what you're talking about."

"Ouch," June faked, acting as if he had just taken a bullet.

Hana looked at them, shaking her head a little with amusement. "That burn, wow."

Thomas sighed. He gave her the folders. "I have no idea how I got surrounded by so many dorks. My boyfriend, my best friend, even my own sister, my _mother_ , they're everywhere."

"You're a dork magnet, it seems," June said.

"Yeah, that's the only solution. Get used to it, or join us. The dork life is a bright life," she nodded.

Thomas rolled eyes. "Never." And then, in a softer tone. "By the way, do you wanna stay for lunch?"

"Why not, I have nothing planned until my shift at the bar."

"Cool."

June got up, pulling the most serious face he could. "Wait. Give me a sec'. I gotta save your life." He went to the kitchen and came back two minutes later. "Okay, you can stay. The lunch is edible. Sort of."

Hana burst out laughing. "Thanks, I really appreciate your sacrifice."

Thomas rolled his eyes. "I implore the gods above. Give me the strength."

"What did you say?" June stopped in front of them and lend them both a hand to stand up. "I _am_ the strength."

"Strength, beauty, power. And brush-able hair," Hana listed. "You're a god from above."

"Truly," June repeated. "And the god from above decided to banish every problem during lunch. The only things allowed are bad jokes and criticism of Thomas's cooking."

Hana grinned. "Roger that."

With that, they had lunch in the kitchen.

A pleasant interlude to all the worries in her head.

* * *

 **5:55 P.M.**

Hana had to meet Maya at 6 P.M. but she was a bit early. Her shift at the bar had been painfully long and weary because all she wanted was to run outside and share her discoveries with Maya. She had this irrational, tiny hope that Maya would magically grant her all the answers to her questions. ' _Oh, these drawings? Yeah, I know them! Nothing to do with extra powerful assassins who all but ruined your life and killed your friend, nah, Maes just liked drawing morbid things in his free time_.'

Of course.

After a few more turns, she stopped near the Maple's house. When she rang, a teenage girl, probably around thirteen or fourteen years old, opened the door for her.

"Hi, I'm here to meet Maya," Hana said, and the girl nodded.

"Thanks for coming. You can follow me," she politely said, and she let her in. She disappeared after dropping Hana in the living-room, hopping to the staircase and running upstairs, silent as a mouse.

When Hana turned her gaze on the living-room, her eyes fell on a particular person she hadn't expected to see there.

Killua.

Chatting with Leorio near the window –Leorio was showing him something – with some ease she never saw around her. Anyone would see that they were friends, and close friends with that.

But before she could say anything, he turned his head, and she saw with some delight that he looked surprised – _pleasantly_ surprised.

Next to him, Leorio followed his gesture and greeted her. "Oh, hi! Sorry, I hadn't heard you. Did Mina open the door for you?" As Hana gave a quizzical look, he went on. "Maya's little sister."

"Oh, yeah, it was her."

"You're here to meet Maya, right?" he asked.

"Yes, though I think I'm a bit early if that's okay."

"No problem, she's been waiting since she got your message yesterday," Leorio joked. He gestured to Killua, who had been staring at her with amused eyes. "This is my friend, Killua, a crime hunter as well." Then, he turned to Killua. "Killua, this is Hanaiko, the hunter who's working on Maes's case."

Killua slightly arched his eyebrows and smirked. "Nice to meet you, Hana."

Leorio frowned. He had surely noticed the way Killua had called her –which left her a little bit giddy for some reason. "You perhaps know each other?"

Her lips curved into a knowing smile. "We do," she said.

"Hana and I live around the same place," Killua explained. "Though I didn't know she was the hunter you had hired."

"That's an interesting coincidence," Leorio noted. "I hope you manage to bear with him," he told her. "He's a brat, you have no idea."

She chortled, and Killua feigned to look hurt. "I trusted you, Leorio."

Leorio laughed. "Hold on, I'll tell Maya you came." He left with that.

"So, _Hanaiko_ ," Killua started when Leorio was gone, and she was startled to hear her name from his mouth. The warmth coating his voice gave a delicious edge to her name, a silvery ring to it that she found entrancing. "I had a feeling you weren't just a bartender. It's a cover, right?"

"You could say that. I needed it for a mission. But I wasn't trying to hide my real job; it's not really a secret. I just don't tell everyone."

"I know. I don't either. It's hardly the kind of things you say everywhere. But it was a nice surprise, anyway."

"Me being a hunter, or you being right about me being a hunter?"

"Both, I guess."

"Does it change anything?"

"Not really. But it's something we share. So it's cool."

"So, me having a common point with you, the magnificent Killua, makes me cooler in your eyes," she deduced, amused.

He chuckled. She liked the sound of his laugh, a soft exhale that soothed his features. "Exactly. I'm the ultimate cool, so common points are like extra cool points for you."

"Wow, I'm honored."

At this moment, Leorio came back with Maya. "Sorry to interrupt," he said.

Maya greeted Hana. "Thank you for coming. I prepared some tea for the meeting. Killua, would you like to stay?"

"Nah, thanks. I'll pass. I was about to go."

She walked him to the door while Leorio brought the tea and cookies. As he left, Killua cast a glance at Hana, and he shot her a small smile. She smiled back, still processing the fact that he was, like her, a crime hunter.

Maya came back when he was gone and sat in front of Hana while Leorio served the tea. She looked nervous.

"Okay. I'm ready," she said, fumbling with the edge of her dress.

Hana didn't miss the gesture, but she tried to act as though she hadn't noticed. "I have found a few things that you might like to see." As Maya nodded, some hints of impatience showing on her face, Hana took the laptop out of its bag and showed it to her. "I found this laptop, along with a few other things, in a secret compartment Maes had built in his closet. Had you ever seen it?"

Maya nodded, slowly. "It's his old computer. He was supposed to sell it when he bought the new one…"

"The police hadn't found any notable information in the new laptop."

"No. But I suppose you found something in this one," Maya tried, and tensed up when Hana agreed.

"Conversations with his friend. But before showing them to you –if you wish to see them —I want to show you something else." She took the binder with the prescriptions and handed it to Maya. Next to her, Leorio peered at the prescriptions' content, his eyes widening while Maya paled. "I suppose you didn't know."

Maya shook her head. She flipped through the prescriptions, and Leorio narrowed his eyes.

"He was diagnosed with a major depression disorder, but it says here he had 'uncommon symptoms'. Like hallucinations that might be relevant to a psychotic depression, but that was still unsure," he said.

"Indeed. I was planning on contacting his doctor to have more details. But either way, the result is the same." She didn't finish her sentence, but they both understood what she meant. Maes had hidden his issues from his family, there was no doubt about that. And the shock of that truth, although it had probably been expected, had to be painful.

Hana eyed the two figures sitting in front of her. Leorio looked weary, with something bitter on his face that seemed to say ' _I knew it, but I wish I were wrong'_. Maya was pale. And silent. Slowly, Leorio reached for her hand and squeezed it.

Hana's heart felt heavy when she saw them. Their sorrow was contagious. She had been there before, but she had all the answers, as unfair as they were. They didn't. They had a dead brother on their hand and no reason for his death. And if Hana was right about the culprit, then the actual reason might be even worse than no reason at all. She couldn't help wondering how they would react after seeing the sketchbook, and started doubting showing Maya her brother's conversations with his best friend was a good idea.

Leorio was the one who broke the heavy silence. "Did you find anything else?"

"There is a sketchbook. Did Maes draw a lot?"

"He did," Maya said, and her voice was weak. "A lot. He hesitated between studying art and history but chose history in the end. He never stopped drawing, though."

Hana took the sketchbook and handed it to them. Leorio took it with an unsure hand, and they started going through the drawings. With each page, their faces sank. Much like her own had when she had first opened the sketchbook, but for different reasons.

"Does this look like his style?"

"I recognize his style, but that's not the kind of things he drew," Maya replied, transfixed. "Are those the hallucinations he had?" she asked with a shaky voice. Leorio glanced at her with concern.

"I am not sure," Hana carefully replied. "But I think they might be linked."

"What about the conversation?" she replied.

Hana hesitated, knowing that it would be painful for Maya to read it. Maes mentioned his sister and his wish to not get her involved in his issues, and knowing that her brother had tried to protect her would hurt her. She looked at Leorio, silently asking for help.

"Maya, I don't think you should read it just yet," he said, and Hana nearly sighed of relief.

"Why not?" Maya snapped. "I need to see it."

"No, you don't. We need to know what's important for the moment. You'll read it another time."

"He is right," Hana risked. "This conversation is one of the lasts your brother had. It would unnecessarily hurt you. I will send it to you as soon as I can so that you can read it when you feel better."

"I don't feel bad, though," Maya tried, but she wasn't convincing with her trembling hands. She herself didn't look certain of what she said. "I'm fine."

"You're not," Leorio cut in, and sighed. "You need your energy."

She lowered her gaze to her hands. She closed the sketchbook and let it rest on the table, then took a sip of tea. Hana did so as well; her throat was dry.

When she put the cup back in the saucer, she took a deep breath. "I'll give you the most important things to know from the conversation. The facts that are important to the investigation." Maya agreed, and Hana kept going. "In the chat, your brother said he didn't understand what was happening to him. So we know that he had been diagnosed with a strange depression that strayed from the usual symptoms, but that does not begin to explain the issue. He also doubted his issue was a depression disorder, and thought it had to be something entirely different." She paused. "He described his symptoms, too."

"Which were?"

She glanced at Leorio, and he nodded. "Hallucinations, severe physical pain similar to burns or poison pain. Vivid emotions," she listed. She spared Maya the rest. The feeling of being swallowed by nothingness, of being torn apart and boiled alive. Of being drained, tired and empty. Of staring into the void. And the excruciating pain, everywhere.

"I see…" Maya said, more to herself than to Hana. "Even his prescriptions say that his symptoms looked less and less like depression, with time. Do you have a lead, as to what happened to him?"

Hana pursed her lips. Her questions resurfaced, and her reason warred with her feelings. She knew she had to report everything she found, but she didn't want to. She didn't want to bring up _his_ existence, as if it would make _him_ resurface. As if it would drag the monster crashed on the shore back into the sea where it would thrive and devour her. Once again.

But she had a duty to carry. And while she could delay her own despair, she couldn't delay Maya's need for answers.

"I do have a lead," she forced the words out of her mouth, ripped them from her stubborn fear. And slowly dragged the monster on the sand. "I might know what happened to him, but I need some time to prove it."

Maya widened her eyes. "Really? Tell me everything."

Hana's unease grew, and it took a great deal of effort not to let it show. "I've already seen the same kind of symptoms before. They're caused by a nen curse that eventually leads to death, unless the victim is exorcised in time."

"Do you know who this nen user is?" Maya asked. Her voice was fiercer, and the colors were back on her face. Anger peeked through her eyes, a small hint of contained fury at the culprit responsible for her brother's suffering.

"I still need to confirm his identity, but so far, everything tends to lead to the Freigo Whisper." Maya and Leorio shared a worried look and urged her to continue. "He struck Megamshill three years ago, particularly in the Freigo area near the Thunderash forest. A murderer who never seemed to leave hints anywhere. No fingerprints, no DNA, nothing apart from broken furniture that suggested some fighting. His trademarks are small puncture points on the victims' bodies that fade away with time. I still don't know what they represent, but they are always here on the corpses, and no traces of any weapon fitting to those points have been found. That's why he was called the Whisper."

"Uncatchable, fleeting," Leorio mused.

"Yes. Investigators never seemed to understand how he managed to kill his victims without touching them, how he managed to conceal his presence so well he managed to commit the most imperfect perfect crimes. There was always enough proof to say that someone had been on the crime scene, but never enough to determine who that someone was. He always managed to slip through the investigators' hands. Eventually, hunters starting going after him, but always died from his nen curse."

"But how would that explain Maes's suicide?" he wondered aloud.

"This is what I need to check," Hana explained. "My theory is that the murderer's curse pushes people to suicide, but I need to prove that. It would explain why there were never any traces of him before."

"You want to prove that he pushed those people to stab themselves, basically," Leorio reworded.

"Exactly."

After a short silence, Maya sighed. A solemn air had smoothed her features, though her determination was still solid in her eyes. "Has anyone ever survived the Whisper's curse?" she asked.

The question struck Hana, so much that she couldn't refrain a wince. "Someone has," she hedged.

"Only one person?" Maya whispered, her voice struck with disbelief.

"Only one," Hana echoed.

"Would it be possible to meet that person?" Leorio asked.

"I don't think so. Their identity is confidential. Even I don't know it," Hana answered, cautious about her half-lie. She didn't want to tell them she had survived when their brother had died. Like Feri and many others before him. Perhaps even many others _after_ him. She already cringed from the guilt that crawled beneath her skin.

"I suppose no one would want to live that again," Maya thought aloud, and Hana nodded. She was aware of their gazes on her, and for a moment, it felt as if they knew she had lied to them. "Do you know how you will address the issue?"

"I was thinking of requesting a few files from the HCDS and the Police's database, to see if the murders could have been masked suicides. But I might need some time to access the files and look deeper in their cases. It shouldn't be too much trouble for the Police's database because I have a friend who works as the police chief. She could help me gather the cases about the civilians. But it might be more complicated with the HCDS. They may refuse my request since I'm not a certified agent, and if they do accept, it might take time."

Maya pondered her words. "I work at the HCDS. I could help you."

"Wai—" Leorio started, but stopped in the middle of his word.

"I might be of some help," Maya resumed and looked at him to reassure him. "I think I might cope better with his death if I actually do something to help."

"I understand," Hana said. "But in any case, the process might be long. If you support my request, it might go a bit faster, but the process of finding the files and sending them might be long."

"I have something to help me," Maya said, and a small wave of aura surged through her. "Do you want to see?"

"Do show," Hana replied, curious and eager at the same time.

Maya snapped her fingers, and a tiny creature popped above Maya, a plump little blue owl with big eyes and tiny wings. "This is Poko, my nen ability, and the reason I was hired by the HCDS."

Hana stared at the tiny cartoonesque creature with wonder. "What does it do?"

"Poko helps me go through archives. I just need to help her filter through them with keywords or dates. She can remember all the cases I submit to her and sort through dozens of files at the same time. She can basically go through an entire archives room in a few minutes and store a few bookshelves worth of information."

"This is amazing," Hana commented, and Maya smiled.

"If I manage to obtain my boss's permission, I can get you all the files you need without even bringing them out of the archives room."

"And would your boss accept?"

"I have almost no doubt he would. He has always been kind to me. I'm sure he will understand the need to see those files. Especially if I tell him the investigation is led by you. You have a good reputation."

 _I really don't_ , Hana thought with irony. At least not in the HCDS of all places. She was about sure that apart from her mother, nobody thought very highly of her at the HCDS —for a good reason. Which was why she didn't particularly like the thought of an HCDS agent knowing of her. "Could I know who your boss is?"

"Allan Fox," Maya said, and Hana stifled a flinch.

 _Of all people_ … she thought, and held a sigh.

"Have you heard of him?" Leorio asked. His furrowed eyebrows showed he hadn't missed her reaction.

"Oh, yes. I've heard of him. One of the best HCDS agents, if I remember well."

"He is," Maya said. "And one of the kindest too."

Hana knew that very well. And she knew Allan enough to be sure he _would_ agree to help. "I'll be counting on you then."

"Okay. I'll contact you as soon as I have the files. So, Freigo Whisper, civilians and hunters casualties?"

"Yes, exactly. Meanwhile, I'll contact my friend at the police and ask her for some help. I need to see if there are other suicides with the same circumstances are your brother's."

Maya took a deep breath. "Alright. Let's stay in contact."

* * *

 **6:30 P.M.**

Killua toyed with the bullet in his hand. A small .38 caliber, intact. The only hint Arashi Kareha-Priman had managed to find.

It could either be an authentic bullet or one made of nen by a conjurer. Which meant it might as well hold a dozen dynamites squeezed inside a tiny .38, unleash deadly poison, or even follow its target like a homing missile, and nobody would know.

Nobody, except Mag.

The intercom crackled, and a voice rose above the sound interferences. "Who's there?"

"Mag? It's Killua."

He didn't need to say more because the door had already opened. He got inside the building and shoved his hands in his pocket. On his left, a narrow staircase twisted in a spiral, and Mag's apartment was on the third floor. He climbed the stairs, stopped in front of a door, and knocked.

Mag quickly opened, his big chemist glasses and his white coat suggesting he was still working. He had tied his graying hair in a small bun.

"Boy, been a long time," he greeted with a gruff voice, his lips stretching in a smirk. "Pretty sure last time we saw each other you were still a fetus. Now look at you. You almost reach my chin."

Killua scoffed, though that was true. Even from atop his still growing six feet, Killua barely reached Mag's chin. "Not my fault if you're built like a bear. And we saw each other last year, you dumbass," he said as he walked in. Mag slammed the door close, threw his white coat on a chair and his glasses on the kitchen's counter.

"Didn't say the contrary. Come on, sit, make yourself home." He stopped in front of his boiler and scowled at Killua, who had slumped on the couch and crossed his feet on the coffee table. "Guess I didn't need to tell you. You wanna drink something? Tea? Coffee? Whiskey? All three together?"

"All three together? And you dare mock my hot chocolates?"

Mag sighed. "Son, your hot chocolates are almost saturated in sugar. The bacteria in your body should have endless supplies of energy by now."

"I'm in a perfect shape," Killua argued.

"I can see that. Asshole. Your veins are filled with caramel and yet here you are. In a better shape than most of us."

"It's in my genes."

"Well I'm not gonna piece apart your chromosomes to know what you wanna drink, so answer me." He picked a bottle and squinted to read what was written on it. "The whiskey is a gem. You can't die without trying it."

"Okay, I'll have that then."

Mag put the boiler on –no matter what drink he brought, he always made tea – and put the bottle on the coffee table. "Wait. Aren't you underage?" he scowled.

"I turned nineteen eight months ago. You're late," Killua replied. The fact that Mag was aware he was talking to a former professional assassin and yet still worried about underage drinking was particularly funny to Killua.

"Right. You're a July seventh baby. Cancer sun, Aries moon. Sensitive baby but impatient asshole."

"You and your astrology," Killua said as he picked a cookie and ate it. When Mag got up to make the tea, Killua browsed through his flat that was crowded with gadgets and tools in a strangely tidy and organized way. The bullets, daggers, arrows, radars, microphones and so much more, some of them disguised as everyday objects, some others not. He nearly winced when he saw the darts.

A few sparse notes lay on his desk, the only mildly untidy things in there.

When the boiler roared and switched off, Mag poured its content in a kettle —a fine piece of china that Mag had purchased for his collection — and joined him on the couch. He unceremoniously shoved Killua's feet away and put a plate with two cups, saucers and spoons on the table. "So, what brings you here?" Mag asked as he served the tea, the kettle looking like a teacup in his big hands. And yet, he handled it with delicateness.

Killua held the bullet in front of him. "This."

Mag frowned, then shot an eyebrow up. "Well, that sure is a small guide."

"Did you just make a dad joke?"

Mag laughed. "Just tell me already."

"I need to know if this is a conjured bullet or not. For a mission. Do you think you could find out?"

"Sure. But you know I don't work for free."

"I know," Killua replied, and extracted a tiny vial from his coat that lay next to him. "Orefox venom. For you."

Mag gaped. "Where did you find this?"

"During a travel in a rural place. It's used for medicinal purposes," Killua explained. He had been bitten by a venomous snake during his stay in this village, where a client had sent him for a mission, and the old woman who owned the hotel had freaked out and used it as an antidote. Killua hadn't had the heart to tell her he was immune to poison –or venom, for that matter. She had offered him a few vials of Orefox venom to keep curing his wound, one per week, but he hadn't needed them. He knew, however, that Mag would need it for his gadgets. The Orefox venom could both be a violent poison or an antidote.

"Well. That seems like a fair deal. Show me the bullet?"

Killua gave it to him, and Mag examined it with a keen eye.

"Do you see any detail?"

"Nope. But we can always test it. Follow me. Let's leave the tea to cool down a bit."

Killua stood up and trailed him. He opened a door and switched on the lights. The room was entirely white, with a transparent window that separated it in the middle. A few weapons were embedded in the glass, such as the triggers were on the same side as them, and the barrels on the other side of the window.

 _A security system_ , Killua thought. To test his gadgets without endangering his life.

"It's solid," Mag assured. "Can silence an explosion and resist the impact."

Killua whistled. He walked near a desk that stood against the wall, perpendicularly to the glass pane. "Looks cool. You can test the bullet here?"

"Let me find an adequate gun. I'm currently working on a grenade-launcher, so you can imagine finding a tiny gun for a tiny .38 is a bit tedious." He managed, though, and took a gun from the shelves he had been combing through.

He removed a weapon from the glass pane and slid the gun into the hole after loading it with the bullet. "You ready?" he asked, and Killua nodded. Mag aimed, focused his Gyo on the gun, and flexed his arm. Then, he pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit the target on the opposite wall. A bright light suddenly filled the whole room, blinding them with a white flash. Killua shut his eyes closed, but when he opened them, he was still blinded. He turned his head, as if moving would shake the white flash away, but nothing happened.

Frustration gripped him. The glass pane could protect them from anything, except light. He carefully leaned in and projected his En through the whole room. He could feel Mag moving through it with uncertain movements.

"Damn bastard and his blinding bullet," Mag hissed under his breath, throwing the gun away after groaning with irritation. Killua simply listened, and eventually, the flash faded away.

"Two whole minutes of blindness," Killua counted.

"Yeah. The guy you're looking for is a conjurer. Nothing can blind you for this long. To think someone would come up with such an annoying ability."

"You gotta admit that could be useful against inexperienced fighters."

"Yeah, probably. Useless against people like you, though. All it would do is pissing you off and pushing you to be merciless."

Killua crossed his arms. "That's true."

As Mag didn't reply, Killua focused on their discovery. He tried to figure out the use of bullets like this one against Priman, who wasn't a fighter. Both Priman and his butler had been blinded by their attacker, and while it was safe to assume his butler knew some fighting, Killua had a feeling the enemy hadn't impaired them to have the advantage in a fight. He had seen himself how easy it was to overcome the blindness with experience and nen, and surely, an enemy coming up with that ability knew that best.

Which left room for another option: the abductors had meant to preserve their identity. That reinforced Arashi's opinion about Eleanora Montsiege being innocent. The enemy was too cautious to be a rival, who would have wanted to be known as the one bringing down the Priman family. And that cautiousness, that extra carefulness about hiding their identity, blinding the victims and diverting the public's attention with an anonymous letter, painted an enemy who most definitely did not want to be discovered. Add to that the detectives that died and the hunters that were coerced to stop the investigation, and here was an enemy that not only didn't want to be found but probably couldn't _afford_ to be. Because they were too notorious, were acting as Priman's friends, or had a personal issue to settle.

Or, because Priman knew about their secrets.

"You're lost in thought, son," Mag called as he cleaned the gun and put it back on its shelf. "I'm betting my whole house you've already starting listing solutions."

"Not solutions. Just plausible paths."

"Same, same." Mag pushed a transparent door through the glass pane and went to retrieve the bullet. "It's still hot. Probably made by a conjurer with a good transmutation sense. Transmuting his aura into heat until it emits light." He gave it back to Killua. "Next time I'll bring sunglasses."

Killua took the bullet. "Thanks."

"Now come back to the living-room and give me that vial. You tell me everything about you. We have a tea and a whiskey to drink," Mag decided, gesturing toward Killua to go.

"Yeah. And you too. Let me catch up on what happened in a whole year."

They talked for an hour or so, about everything they had done since the last time they had seen each other at Padokia. Mag had been to the Celestial Tower to earn some money for his projects and test some gadgets in live. Killua had come to the city to visit Wing and Zushi, but meeting back with Mag had been a good surprise as well.

It was about dinner time when Killua decided to go. "Mag, I gotta go. I probably interrupted whatever you were doing."

"Nah. If I were busy, I wouldn't have opened."

"We both know you would always open the door for me," Killua teased, a smirk on his face.

"So you can put your filthy feet on my coffee table and make me clean up after you?"

"They're not filthy. You'd have kicked me out if they were, and you'd have made me scrub my boots until they're new."

Mag arched his eyebrows. "That's a good idea actually. Next time you wanna visit Uncle Mag, keep that in mind."

"Don't call yourself Uncle Mag. It's weird."

"I could be your father, you know."

Killua smiled. "I know." His tone wasn't teasing anymore.

Mag smiled back, a big, fatherly smile, and patted his shoulder. "Come back anytime. You're always welcome here."

"I will."

As Killua exited the building and joined the flow of people, he clutched the bullet in his palm. His instinct prickled when he examined all the layers that unfolded from it. And while his mind still raced toward more possibilities and hypotheses and weighed them together, he leaned more toward the one he had found earlier. That the enemy could have wanted to drown a secret with Priman.

And if that was the case, then the secret had to be important.

What could it be? Something about money? Politics? Crimes? Love affairs?

So many possibilities, so many different paths. But he didn't have time to narrow them down. At least, not at this moment. He had to focus on something else. Like the pressure of a gaze on his back, the awareness of all his senses, the unfamiliar aura around him. It was faint, but it was there, and it was _enough_.

Enough to know with certainty that someone was watching him.

* * *

 **A/N :** Hehehehehehehehehe… Sooo. What did you think? I hope you don't hate me yet for the cliffhangers because trust me, a lot of chapters end like this. I hope you get used to it *hides*.

So what did you think about the new OCs? About the interactions between them and Hana/Killua? Feel free to submit your speculations about the plot by the way, it's always really fun to read what the readers think will happen (and could be helpful too).

On a completely unrelated note, I mentioned Killua's voice here but if you want to hear it, he basically has Soraru's voice! I love Soraru a lot and I feel like his voice would fit Killua. I hope it helps you picture it more easily!

Anyway, thanks a lot for reading! Please let me know what you thought about the chapter, it would really mean a lot.

See you in two weeks!


	5. Just Like a Spark

A/N: Hi there! It feels so good to update, I feel like my story is living. *sheds a tear*

For anyone interested, there's a drawing of Thomas and June on my story's blog, under the tag _**art for the story**_! I was fairly satisfied with June, but I don't think I did justice to Thomas. Nonetheless, that gives you a pretty accurate representation of them (minus the fact that boys are not my forte when it comes to drawing).

As always, **thank you guys a lot for your support**! It goes straight to my sentimental heart. I love you all. (On a side note, I have no idea how many people are actually reading this story because I see in the traffic graph a lot more visitors than reviewers. It makes me feel flattered to see that some of you check this story every day, so thank you so much! I really wonder what you think about the story too!)

Anyway, I should stop blabbering. I apologize in advance because there's a tiny bit of blood… And yeah. You'll see. Just read and you'll see by yourself. Nothing bad but I just thought I'd put a warning. ( **Do you guys need warnings for bloody parts**? I mean it's HxH but just in case… I don't mind adding warnings!)

Anywayyyy (god I'm worse than Hana sometimes), hope you like the chapter!

* * *

Chapter 4: **Just like a spark**

* * *

 **8:34 P.M.**

Killua kept walking, drowning himself in the crowd. But the feeling of being watched didn't falter. Whoever was following him was experienced enough to keep their distance and conceal their presence, but certainly not enough to evade Killua's acute senses.

But who was crazy enough to follow _him_? It took little common sense to realize following an ex-assassin, a _Zoaldyeck_ with that, was suicide. Unless they had been ordered to do so. And Killua didn't feel any murderous intent, which meant that person had only been sent to spy him.

By whom, then? The most obvious guess was the enemy, the person who had attacked Priman and taken such great care to conceal their identity. However, that would mean they already knew a new hunter had been hired on the case. A single day had passed since Killua met with Arashi. How would they have known so fast when Killua had barely done anything? Could there be an infiltrator within the Priman household itself?

He stopped to buy a box of sweets, acting as if he didn't know about being watched. He joked a bit with the cashier, then reached for his wallet in his coat pocket. As he did so, his fingers brushed the bullet, and he nearly flinched. He had felt the presence as soon as he had been out of Mag's building, but not before.

Which meant that this spy knew he had gone to see Mag.

A flicker of anger seized his throat. He managed to put the bill on the counter and bid a goodbye to the cashier without letting it show, but as soon as he was out in the street, his eyebrows dropped in a deep frown. He started walking toward a more crowded place, luring the spy in the maze of people and umbrellas.

Then, in a split second, he had disappeared. He moved at inhuman speed to the source of the indiscrete aura, dodging the people on the way without them even noticing. He caught the spy by his collar and dragged him to a desert street of an abandoned neighborhood, one of those that hadn't been rebuilt just yet. Everything had happened in a single minute. The spy tried to fight back, but what he could do against Killua's steel grip?

Killua shoved him against a wall, his hand gripping his throat with white-knuckled strength.

"Look at me, and don't move," he ordered and set an icy gaze on the spy. He wasn't more than twenty, dressed casually to blend in with the crowd.

The spy tensed, grabbed Killua's wrist and sank his nails into his skin and scratched and gasped for air. He was unable to open his eyes. Killua relaxed his grip on his throat, and he took a deep breath. His fingers on Killua's wrist stopped scratching, but they were trembling.

He finally opened his eyes, his gaze unsteady as he tried to hold Killua's. Terror and determination warred on his face. He would not be easy to deal with.

"Who sent you?" Killua asked, his voice cold and even. As the spy refused to answer, he rose his other hand and made sure the man saw the sharp claws that sprang from his fingers. Dread crossed his face and he widened his eyes. "Who are you working for?"

And yet, he didn't answer. A hundred of emotions twisted his face, from fear to anger to resignation and, for a split second, regret. Killua realized he probably hadn't had a choice in his task and had been well aware of who he would have to follow. And at this moment, he was about sure the man shaking in front of him hated his employers.

"Not very chatty, are you?" he mused and moved his claws toward the spy's throat. When they touched his skin, he yelped.

"Just kill me!" he suddenly pleaded, and started crying. "I'm not gonna talk. I _can't_ talk."

Killua frowned. Was he bound to a nen oath? He was removing his claws from the man's throat when a small, almost inaudible sound broke the silence. He reached for the man's wavy hair and moved it away to show his ear. A small earpiece was lodged there. He took it and the spy widened his eyes.

The earpiece buzzed again, and Killua focused on the sound.

"Ray? Ray! You receive me?" the voice said.

Killua waited for the sound to stop. He spoke in the tiny mic on the other side of the earpiece. "He's busy, I believe."

The voice died. "What?" it said in disbelief.

"Hi," Killua simply replied. "Mind if I ask some questions?"

He heard someone suck in a breath on the other side. And then, no more sound. The voice had disconnected their device.

 _Rude_ , Killua thought. He threw the earpiece in his pocket and turned to the spy, who was boiling with fury. It seemed like he cared about the person he had been communicating with. "Why can't you tell me who you work for?"

But the spy didn't say anything. Instead, he grabbed a gun that had been hanging on his belt under his coat and moved to aim it at Killua. But he hadn't been fast enough and Killua had already caged his arm.

He didn't seem to mind, though.

Because he hadn't meant to aim at Killua.

"Why? Because this," he hissed.

With a swift flick of his wrist, the spy aimed at himself.

And shot.

Killua flinched away as blood splashed on him and splattered on the ground. Shock hit him like a punch in the stomach. A pool of blood grew and grew at his feet, and he stepped back from the mess before it reached his feet.

The spy lay motionless on the ground, his eyes glassy and still tearful, a hole drilled into his head from his chin to his skull. And as Killua watched the blood spill, he realized the young spy had surely chosen the lesser from two evils. No matter how horrible his death was, it had to be less horrible than whatever was awaiting him.

He let out a breath he had been holding in. He hadn't wanted that to happen. Frustrated, he closed his coat on his stained shirt, reached for the earpiece in his pocket, next to the bullet, and left. At least if he couldn't get answers from this guy, then perhaps he could get them from the earpiece.

He had hoped confronting the spy would at least give him a few answers, but now, only more questions rose from his death. What was so bad that _this_ was a preferable answer? An even worse death? The death of a loved one? Torture? The spy had said he couldn't talk. Was he trapped by a nen oath, like the one Kurapika had used on the Phantom Troup's head?

If that was true, then Ray's employer's anonymity was important enough to sacrifice their own people. Which only confirmed they couldn't let themselves be found.

Killua had to stay cautious.

He had a resourceful enemy against him.

* * *

 **Wednesday, March 25** **th**

 **10:06 A.M.**

Killua crossed his legs, watching Ophelia's fingers fly on the keyboard. He knew quite a lot of hacker hunters, but Ophelia was the only one he trusted enough. They had worked together in the past and more than once she had proven to be trustworthy and efficient. As the subordinate of the HCDS vice-president, she had access to more important databases, but also held a tricky position since one mistake could send her flying. Which was why she usually only worked with discrete people like Killua.

He had always wondered why she was compromising her job so much. No matter what she would say, he was sure it wasn't for his sake, or for anyone else's. She had her own personal goals, but she was hard to read, even for Killua. He couldn't pinpoint what she wanted exactly. He just knew it had to be important, important enough to make her gamble on her own job.

"So, conjurers using guns?" she repeated, her eyes riveted on her screen.

"Yup."

"I hope you do realize how hard it is to filter through all that information," she mumbled.

"I do. You're amazing."

She stopped typing and raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. "Bribing me with compliments, hm?"

"I'm genuine," he said, tilting his head toward her. But she shrugged and shook her head.

"Damn, what wouldn't I do for those pretty eyes of yours," she muttered and reached for her mouse.

Killua smirked. "They're mesmerizing, right?"

Ophelia glanced at him. "Damn right they are. Now if you could stop flirting with yourself and let me work."

"You're the one who complimented me."

"The usual response is "thanks", not "damn right I'm hot as fuck"."

"But I _am_ hot as fuck. Here's the trick."

She sighed. "If only you were a bit older." After a bit more of typing and frowning, she printed a list and handed it to him. "Here. A list of all the known conjurers using guns in Megamshill, alive and recently dead –who knows if your guy is still alive. It wasn't easy making that list so treasure it. It comes from top secret databases and I might lose my job for giving them to you," she said under her breath.

"Top secret, huh?"

"We both know that top secret means "accessible to those who can get it but will get your ass in trouble if you're not quiet about it"."

"I know. I'll be careful. And you know I wouldn't give your name away," he assured. "I doubt anyone would try to torture it out of my mouth."

"That's why I agreed to work with you. I know I'm safe. Anyone going after you would sooner die than manage to lay a finger on you."

"That's true," he agreed, and thought of the spy who had killed himself in front of him. She couldn't be more right.

He skimmed through the list, appreciating Ophelia's hard but exhaustive work. There were enough names to fill half an A4 page, but Killua knew it would be fast to comb through that list.

His eyes bumped on a name.

 **Hanaiko Torana (199X, – ), Megamshill City.**

He blinked, both curious and surprised. So she was a conjurer? He wondered if she could be the person he was looking for, but it wasn't probable. Both reason and instinct insisted that it couldn't be her. The one he was searching for was actively meddling with the Mafia, and possibly a bodyguard of some sort, which meant they had to remain near whoever they were protecting. And that wasn't Hana's case. Still, curiosity pushed him to ask Ophelia if she knew about her.

"That name here," he said and pointed at Hana's name. "Does it ring a bell to you?"

She leaned forward and then frowned. "Why that name in particular?"

"I know her. I was surprised to find her name here."

"Oh, okay," Ophelia sat back. "I've heard of her. But I doubt she's the person you're looking for. The guy is obviously working for someone, and the girl is a freelance. Free as a bird, and quite stubborn about that. I doubt she's hiding mobster-ish corpses under her bed. Besides, I'm about sure her ability doesn't include flashing bullets."

He wasn't sure if it was because of relief, but something relaxed inside of him. He was aware he would still have to make sure she wasn't involved in this issue, but knowing that he wouldn't have to fight her was reassuring. Suspicion probably wasn't the best beginning to a potential friendship.

"You seem to know a lot about her," Killua noted, and Ophelia shrugged.

"She used to be my former boss's student before I was transferred here. A promising student, from what he used to say. My boss was about sure she would grow to be a great agent."

"What happened to her?"

Ophelia studied him, her golden eyes piercing against her dark skin. "A failed mission. She left the HCDS shortly after recovering. Though if you want details, I say you should go ask her directly. Since you seem to like her."

"Yeah, I'll do that. I need to question her anyway. To narrow down that list."

"Good luck on that. You've got quite a lot of work to do."

"Don't worry about me. I'm tough. By next week, I'll have narrowed down that list."

"Wow, so cocky."

"For a reason," he said, and she rolled eyes. "Thanks anyway. It helps a lot. When you need anything back, just ask."

"No problem. And don't worry, I'll make good use of this favor you owe me."

"Good to know I can count on you," he joked, and she grinned.

He then left the HCDS after promptly checking if Maya was at her desk, but she wasn't.

Ophelia's words about Hana rewound in his mind as he started down the street. A failed mission? Recovering? Leaving the HCDS? That piqued his interest. He wanted to know more about that incident.

And about her, in general.

The only Hana he knew was all silly jokes and huge grins, bubbling energy and loud laughs. But there was more to her. There had to be. It wasn't an act —it was too genuine— but he imagined she could be using that demeanor to hide her vulnerabilities. He did remember the strange uneasiness she had shown a few days ago, when she had lied about being alright. She had been annoyed that he had seen through her, as though she was used to concealing her feelings and expected people to buy her smiles. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that there could be a lot more, hidden deep behind the lopsided grins. And he _wanted_ to know what that was.

He felt pulled toward her in a strange way, because she reminded him of himself against all odds.

He snapped out of his thoughts when he reached the portal to his building. As he closed it behind him, he noted he had been thinking about her a lot, lately. Ever since they had met, sometimes she would pop in his mind when he saw a cat or the basketball court or something bright-colored or eccentric.

And they talked more and more, too. She still hadn't texted him —he suspected that she was afraid of coming off as clingy — and he didn't feel the need to text her, but they often crossed each other's ways and exchanged a few words as they walked. She still came to feed her cat every night and would always stumble upon him, and they would chat for some time about anything and everything and tell each other stories of what they had lived or heard.

Eventually, he came to like those moments and look forward to them. He liked her company. She was a fun person, and there was never a boring conversation with her. Wits and jokes flew amid the funny anecdotes and he found himself laughing more than he usually did. She was also rather thoughtful and always left before he did to give him some quietness —he appreciated the thought, even if he didn't need it. Now, he wasn't even sure he went to the court out of habit or just to have a good talk with her.

And he couldn't deny it was a pleasant feeling.

When he got into the building, his eyes fell on the glass door that led to the back gardens, where he knew the basketball court was. She couldn't be there at this time. They had greeted each other just this morning and walked together until they parted for their respective destinations. She couldn't be back just yet.

And so, he went home, her name still floating in his head.

He would see her that night.

* * *

 **11:07 A.M.**

Hana walked in the police station, searching for Lynd's tall figure. She passed by a few officers who stared at her with dubious looks, inspected a few rooms and finally stopped in front of Lynd's office. She wasn't inside, but she would come back, eventually.

While she waited, she launched her planner on her phone and checked a few things she had done already. Yes, she had been to the grocery. Yes, she had done the laundry. Yes, she had gathered all the data about the drug traffickers Lynd wanted. Yes, yes, yes.

Her finger hovered over the last task.

 **[] Peel through the files Maya sent.**

She hadn't finished doing that yet. Maya had sent her all the files she had found two days ago, after obtaining Allan's permission, and since then, Hana had been working on them. There was a lot to go through. She hadn't found much so far, only things she already knew. The lack of fingerprints, of any kind of DNA samples. She remembered the Whisper had worn gloves when she and Feri had found him, gloves that Feri had burnt during the fight. That would explain the lack of fingerprints.

There were also the puncture points, a few small dots in the victims' chests, whose positioning changed with every victim. She couldn't figure what their origin was. They were small enough to be mistaken for moles, if it weren't for their number and their presence on all the corpses.

Hana had asked Maya if she had noticed the puncture points on her brother, but Maya hadn't been there when her brother's corpse had been dressed for the funeral. The professionals who had handled it hadn't noticed anything either. People who washed corpses every day and saw them torn apart in gruesome ways didn't look for beauty spots. But Hana did.

And that was why she was there.

To find the answers she lacked, and change her strategy. And that strategy, if it came to be used, was bound to succeed, as morbid as it was. It was her last resort. She had no lead on the Whisper's whereabouts, didn't even know if it truly was him.

She shifted uncomfortably. Even if she did have a lead on his position, what could she do? She had faced him once, and he had crushed her in all the possible ways, a steamroll on a tiny ant. As dutiful as she was, she was sure she couldn't bring herself to face him again. Not this time.

She leaned on the wall next to the door and crossed her arms, feeling suddenly weary. She had worked hard on the Maple case ever since she had learned the Whisper could be involved. But even then, the last thing she wanted was to meet him again. The possibility alone made her sick and struck a tremor in her chest. No matter how much she tried to anticipate her reaction, to tell herself it was inevitable, she just couldn't predict it.

The uncertainty —of the case's state, of her reaction, of how things would turn out and how they would affect her— only added to the load of stress she had been carrying for a few days. The ever-growing, self-refilling, back-breaking, body-aching stress. Fueled by the reappearance of an enemy who terrified her and the contradictions that collided in her head. Her urge for dynamism. Her fear for discoveries. Her impatience to be rid of that case. Her reluctance to work on it. Her need to focus anyway. Her wish to drop it and take care of the other cases.

The other cases, that were taking dust in her apartment.

Her phone vibrated in her hand, whisking her away from her pile of problems. A message from Thomas popped, and she tapped on it to let it show, glad that he could distract her from those unpleasant thoughts.

'Look at what this dork did in the shower today,' said the message. A photo was attached to it, of June with his hair down — quite a pleasant sight — grinning and pointing at the shower's steam-covered door, where he had drawn a heart and written "HANA" inside.

She bit her lower lip, feeling a grin dig in her cheeks. The load on her back lifted for a moment, and even if it hovered like a Damocles sword, she decided not to care for a few minutes. Just the time to marvel at her friends and thank whatever deity there was for their existence.

She replied. 'He is the cutest. Tell him I wanna marry him.'

Thomas's answer came fast. 'He said yes.. congratulations lol. I successfully paired up my boyfriend with my best friend'

She shook her head. 'We were so meant for each other. Also tell him he looks sexy with his hair down.'

Thomas was typing. 'He says thanks and he says you have a nice butt.' And then a second message showed up. 'He's asking for the ring you want.'

She switched to her browser and googled something. Then, she sent him a picture of a red plastic pacifier candy that looked like a ring. 'Tell him this is the only ring I'll accept.'

An emoji came next. A pissed off emoji. She snickered, imagining Thomas's face as an exact replica of that face. 'If you're stealing my boyfriend then at least do it correctly,' he sent.

'I could marry both of you,' she replied.

'Hell no, I'm not bearing with you two at the same time.. one dork is more than enough.' There was a scared emoticon next to his text.

She started spamming him with crying emojis until he left the conversation. 'I'm sorry,' she tried to make him come back, but when he did she started sending the crying emoji again.

'You're the most annoying ass I know,' he said in between two crying emoticons, and she let out a small laugh. Surprised by how easy the sound came.

'I love you too.' She added a heart next to her text.

His last message came a few seconds later. Two hearts.

And he left. She locked her phone and shoved in her pocket, all pumped up after this happy little chat. She sometimes felt like Thomas had a sixth sense that nudged him to send her those random, quirky messages when she started getting gloomy. And she was thankful for that.

A few minutes later only, Lynd's high-heels resonated in the long corridor, and she appeared with a coffee in her hand, pinching the bridge of her nose. Quite a funny combination. She stopped when she noticed Hana, and almost ran toward her. "You're here!" She exclaimed and hugged Hana, keeping the coffee as far as she could from her. The warmth of that gesture relaxed Hana. "I thought we'd never have time to meet up again after our last meeting. Though this isn't the best place for a friend reunion."

"I'm happy to see you too! But don't worry, we can catch up later. I've got some things for you."

"Amazing. Come in, we'll talk inside." She unlocked her office and they got inside. The mess almost made Hana uncomfortable.

"How do you find your way in that maze," she asked while Lynd moved a few boxes from the way. "This is worse than my mom's office."

"Practice and experience, babe. I always tell myself I'm gonna tidy it up, but as soon as I do I don't know where anything is. I'm a messy creature. I can only live in a mess. The Monster of the Loch Mess."

Hana picked up a stack of papers and put them on Lynd's desk. "That pun was terrible. I love it."

"Of course you did, you love all my puns," Lynd boasted. "You want a coffee? Tea?"

"I wouldn't mind some coffee."

Lynd looked inside a box and extracted a small pod. "Black, sugarless coffee?"

"Yep! Nice memory."

"I need a nice memory to remember what every single tower of files contains," Lynd thought aloud while putting the pod in the coffee machine.

"That's the advantage. You never forget shit. I need a planner for everything, even my own birthday."

Lynd narrowed her eyes and pointed a finger gun at her. "August 8th?"

"Yes! And yours is…" Hana paused and thought hard. "Somewhere in September?"

"September 28th. You do suck at it," Lynd joked with her trademark toothy smile. Hana was glad she wasn't offended that her own friend couldn't remember her birthday. Some people would have been, but Lynd was just so… easy-going. She took offense at nothing.

"You have no idea. There's a reason I'm addicted to my phone. My whole brain is literally squeezed inside."

"I noticed." She handed Hana the smoking cup of coffee, and winked when she thanked her. "So, you told me you had some things to share."

"Yes." Hana fished in her big purse for a folder. "Here. You're not gonna like what's inside."

Lynd gave her a worried look but took the folder nonetheless. When she opened it and browsed through the files, her eyebrows knitted together. "You gotta be kidding me."

"Nope," Hana replied. She glanced at the files inside Lynd's hands. She had known right away that Lynd would dislike this bit of info. Who would like to learn that their own officers were involved in a drug trafficking issue?

"So it's confirmed," Lynd concluded and put the files back in the folder.

"It is." She tried to read on Lynd's face, peered into the line on her forehead, the deep focus in her brown eyes. "You shouldn't turn them in immediately. Try instead to use them. They could be your bridge to the initial traffickers. The source."

"I could do that. I could use them to keep investigating," Lynd replied, but the frown was still on her face.

"You don't look convinced. Is something wrong?"

Lynd closed her eyes and sighed. "Yeah. It's a great strategy, but it bothers me to keep them in my ranks when they're trafficking drugs." She ran a hand through her hair. "We are supposed to be role models, provide help, safety, and security. And yet, look at what they've been doing lately. Trafficking hard drugs."

"Some people make a wrong use of their uniforms," Hana said.

Lynd crossed her arms. "Yeah. And I want to stop that. There's no way I'll let this pass. I want clean ranks and people who choose this job because they want to help, not because it gives them the authority to fuck things up without facing the consequences."

Hana smiled. "I believe you can do it. You have the spirit and the guts."

"I have to. I'm young, so I feel like I have to work twice as hard and prove myself to the other officers," Lynd confessed, and something in her demeanor, in the stiffness in her shoulders, showed that this issue wasn't as light as her tone suggested. It had to be weighing her down for her to bring it up. Her own way to ask for her help without asking.

It wasn't unfamiliar to Hana either. The prejudice of their ages, the efforts they had to do to not be underestimated. If someone could relate to what Lynd was saying, it would be Hana.

"I know what you mean, but don't let that undermine you. The way I see it, your youth is precisely your advantage. Look at you, a police chief at twenty-four when the job is usually reserved for middle-aged men. That's your strength. There's a good reason it was you, and not someone more experienced. Not everybody can lead a bunch of officers with your willpower and your strength. You do that almost naturally —leading, helping, giving orders. You were cut out for this job. You have nothing to prove."

Lynd titled her head, and the corner of her lips faintly tipped up. "Thank you. I try to be strong and level-headed for my officers, but sometimes I just… doubt. And there are moments when I want to crawl on the ground and give up."

Hana felt like Lynd had spoken on her behalf. "That's okay. Everybody has moments like this. I'm here to handle you when you want to give everything up and live in a grotto."

"Will you still love me when all I can do is crawl on the floor and drool?"

"Always. I'll lie down and drool with you."

Lynd chuckled. She sounded tired. "Thanks. And I'm sorry for this. I'm just really… stressed lately. There's this case, a bunch of requests coming from everywhere, and we recently opened another case just a few days ago. It's a mess."

"Another case?"

"Yeah. I'm sure you've heard of it. A murder in the Pit."

Hana _had_ heard of this case. A man found dead in his home, a mess of stabs and broken bottles. And the uncanniest thing was that his right arm was missing. The crime rate in the Pit was significantly higher than in the rest of the city, as it was the most problematic area in Megamshill, but usually, the issues stayed between gangs and involved fists and guns. Not this kind of butchery. "How's it going?"

"Well, so far we've managed to find some DNA samples. And fingerprints. The culprit barely tried to hide. The bigger problem is, he's on the run and we have to wait for the laboratories to give us the result."

"How long does it take?"

"Well, the time for the labs to acknowledge the sample, first. And then, up to a week if the sample is good enough. Four days if we're lucky. But usually, it can go up to two weeks before they have time to do the testing. So I wouldn't be able to tell."

"Yeah, idling for two weeks won't be pleasant."

"Definitely. Especially that he could do it again. I've taken some measures to prevent that, but I really need the results as soon as possible."

"Well, from the look of it, your murderer didn't premeditate his kill," Hana thought aloud.

"No, that's true. Nothing could indicate he had planned to do it. But that means he could wipe out anyone in a fit of anger." Lynd fell silent then.

Hana took a sip from her coffee. It had grown cold since they had started talking. The true purpose of her visit came back to her mind as she settled her gaze on her hands. Uncertainty prowled back on her, but she ignored it. "Lynd, I'm gonna need your help on a case of mine," she said, and Lynd gestured her to keep going. "Has the police handled any unexplained suicide cases lately? Preferably between January and March."

"Unexplained suicides?"

"Yeah. Fishy suicides. People who killed themselves after brutally changing their behaviors."

Lynd narrowed her eyes. "Sounds grim. But yeah, I can try to look it up and tell you, though I don't remember taking care of anything like that."

Hana nodded. "Which is why I'm also gonna ask something else."

"Yeah?"

"I need you to call me as soon as the police are alerted for a suicide."

"Wow, that's ambitious," Lynd commented. "Do you know the rate of suicide in this country? One every thirteen minutes. You're gonna be busy."

"I know. But I have special criteria."

"Which are?"

Hana gestured to her chest. "Small puncture points on the chest. That look like beauty spots."

In front of her, Lynd twirled a strand of strawberry blond hair. Understanding seemed to sink in as her eyes grew focused. "The Whisper?"

"Yes."

Worry crept in Lynd's eyes. She knew of Hana's link with the Whisper. How he had taken her friend's life, terrorized her for weeks after her recovery, even after his sudden vanishing. They hadn't been friends yet when it had happened, but it didn't mean Lynd felt any less concerned by this issue. "Okay," she simply replied. "I'll tell you. I'll call you if that happens."

"Anytime. Even at night, if that's when you receive the alert."

"Don't worry, I know it's important."

"Thank you. It would help me a lot."

Lynd shrugged. "Not as much as you help me."

They remained silent for a moment, finishing their coffees while they both thought of the consequences of what Hana had said. About the Whisper being back in town. About the chaos that would ensue. And about his motives, too, because those had always been a mystery. No one had ever managed to know what he wanted, not even Hana, who had faced him more personally than anyone. He was whimsical, unreadable. Fleeting. Like a whisper.

When Hana was done with her coffee, she pushed her chair and got up. "Anyway, I'm gonna go. Thanks for the coffee, and for the service."

"No problem. I'm the thankful one here."

Hana smiled. "Contact me if you need something for the case. I'll be focusing on the suicides, but I'm still available."

"I know, thank you. You know I won't hesitate," Lynd assured. "I'll send you the files you need as soon as I can, if they exist."

They both exited the office and Lynd locked it behind her. It was lunch time after all.

"By the way," Lynd started as they walked along the corridor. "There's a party at the Barista's on Saturday. You wanna come? It might be good to just, you know, unload everything for a few hours. If you can spare a few hours of course." There was something in Lynd's tone that suggested Hana needed it. And she wasn't wrong.

"Oh, yes, that would be really cool," Hana replied, already looking forward to it. All she wanted was to empty a bottle of vodka and dance till her muscles were sore and her brain even more. Just forget, for one night, that issues were looming on her, and meet up with her friends and have fun.

"So it's settled. I'll come to pick you up. I'll give you more details."

"Okay."

They stopped walking, having reached the fork where they went separate ways. Lynd gently squeezed Hana's shoulder. "You call me if anything's wrong, okay?"

Hana tried to give her a reassuring look. "I'll be fine, don't worry."

Lynd stared at her, her worry still peeking through her gaze. "I'm still up for the grotto. So call me. If you're still up for turning into slugs for a few days. Just crawling. Drooling. And eating. Living the life."

Hana chortled. "Hopefully, I can maintain a human form for the time being. Bug if I feel like my inner slug nature kicks in, I'll give you a call."

Lynd pulled her into a hug. "I'll miss you."

They bid goodbyes at this point. When Hana reached the entry gate, she waved at Lynd, who had been looking at her from her spot, and disappeared into the crowd.

She may not be very lucky with the cases she worked on, but she had been blessed with the people around her.

That was more than she could ask for.

* * *

 **9:18 P.M.**

He peered through the metallic portal into the court, and he saw her standing near the benches, wearing a black jersey and sneakers. The court's lights were brighter than he had ever seen them; she surely knew how to increase the lighting. The cat was eating the food she had brought in a corner, near a bush that grew on both sides of the fence.

She hadn't heard him —or well, couldn't. He was about to push the portal and call her when he saw her twiddling her thumbs over her phone, hesitant.

An idea brushed his mind. He took his own phone, carefully hidden behind the greenery around the portal.

And he texted her. 'Hi.'

He glanced through the bars and saw her flinch. A mischievous smile poked his lips when she started fumbling.

'Hi! I was actually about to text you!' She replied, and then stared at her phone with insistence.

He worded his answer, slowly, enjoying her impatience. 'I know.'

'You do? How?' she wrote. And looked around her.

He pondered his reply. 'Two options: 1- I live under your bed. 2- I'm right behind you.' As he sent this text, he pushed the portal. She swiveled and beamed at him.

"Killua!" She exclaimed.

He smiled at her reaction. It was always pleasant to be greeted with so much joy. "Hi."

"You were here the whole time?" she asked when he reached her.

"Yep."

She snorted. "You ass. How fun was it to toy with me?"

"Very amusing. You were so shy, debating whether you should text me or not."

She scratched her cheek, a sheepish smile on her face. "I bet I was cute," she bragged, hiding her embarrassment.

"I don't know about that. I base my cute standards on myself, so, they're kinda high."

"Aw, come on. Did meeting such an adorable person fry your brain?"

"I don't know." He smirked. "How is your brain?"

She rolled eyes, amused. "Of course. I don't know what I expected."

"I make it a rule to live beyond people's expectations."

"Well, I didn't _expect_ you to compliment me. I can praise myself very well. I mean, look at that," she gestured at herself. "I'm such a cutie. I would date myself if I could."

"That sounds good actually. I like this concept. Self-dating. Very good concept."

She chuckled. "I even forgot why I texted you in the first place."

He nodded at the basketball ball on the bench, and she followed his gaze. "I suppose that's the reason."

"Right." She looked at him. "You wanna play?"

"Sure."

"Awesome." She took the ball. "One on one? Or you prefer shots?"

"Either way, I'm gonna kick your ass."

" _Wow_. So rude." She threw the ball at him and he deftly caught it. "You majored in the Smug Arts. Professional Self-Appreciator with a bloated ego."

He made the ball bounce, then threw it back at her as they walked toward the center of the court. "I like to think my ego has good reasons to be "bloated". Have you looked at me? I'm actually pretty modest."

She cast a side glance at him and arched her eyebrows. "I have looked at you very well."

"And?"

She gave a knowing grin. One that held a thousand answers and none at the same time. And didn't reply. She turned to shoot at the basket instead.

Now _she_ was the one toying with him. With that tiny hint of mystery and that… what was that, that flicker in her eyes? Amusement? Mockery?

No.

It was seduction.

His curiosity flared up. _That_ was beyond his expectations.

"You still wanna play?" she suddenly asked. "I ended up talking too much and distracting you."

"Yeah. You're such a blabbermouth."

"Well, you didn't seem to mind." She picked the ball up. "So, shots?"

"Sure."

"Awesome. We just say that whoever misses a shot first is a huge ass loser."

He shook his head. "It's not cool to insult yourself, Hana."

"Not gonna reply to that." She shot, scored, and went near the basket to pick the ball. She threw it at him. "Do better than that," she challenged and stretched, her posture deliberately offhand.

"Easy." He shot the ball in a perfect parabola. Watched its flawless trajectory as it neared the basket.

And gawked when it missed.

It hit the hoop at the last moment and bounced back on the ground. He watched it roll away in utter silence. For a minute, the only sounds were the ball, the wind, and the cat, a curious spectator to their game.

A snicker pierced the silence. He narrowed his eyes and glared at her. " _You_."

She burst out laughing. "I'm so sorry, I couldn't resist. I just wanted to see your reaction," she said between two laughs.

He groaned. That idiot had used nen to deviate the ball. "Only way for you to win anyway."

She had stopped laughing, but she was still tearful and red-cheeked. "How was it, to step among the mortals for a second?"

"Dreadful. I thought I would die. Me? Losing? Missing? Nah. Not possible."

"I'm terribly sorry. I didn't think of the consequences."

"You should," he lectured. "You could have disrupted the world's order by forcing an impossible event to happen. Now how funny would _that_ be?"

"Wow. Just wow." She applauded. "I have nothing to reply to this level of smug."

He brought his hand to his heart. "Thank you." He feigned to bow.

She laughed. "You're incredibly fun to be with."

He blinked, a bit taken aback. "Why, thank you."

They played for some time after that, without any more pranks. Just shooting and sometimes stealing the ball to try one more time. Eventually, she grew tired of him always beating her at her own game and started playing more seriously. Dodging, shooting, jumping. They repeated those actions again and again, both trying to best the other one.

When he picked up the pace, she started having trouble following him. He was gifted with strength and speed, and had years behind him spent sharpening his skills, so no matter how strong, fast and agile she was, she couldn't beat him. What she didn't know, though, was that he usually didn't need to push himself too far to beat people. And yet, she was making him make some effort. He had to give her that. He could see she was also a gifted fighter from the way she moved, and knew that she would have no trouble winning against a different person. It just happened that her opponent was him.

They stopped moving fifteen minutes later. Both panting and sweating, though at different rates. She was out of breath, and he was barely breathing a little faster than usual.

"What exactly are you made of?" she asked as she cracked her back and winced.

"A ton of good things."

"Ugh." She stood straight, parted her legs and bent.

He raised an eyebrow. "You still wanna go?"

"Of course." She lurched at him. He dodged her attack and defended his spot, swiftly following her movements and blocking all her opportunities.

She tried to stand in his way as he jumped to score, and the tips of her fingers brushed the ball enough to deviate it. It wasn't enough to take the ball altogether, though.

"Well tried," he said as he sneaked away and went for the ball, still bouncing on the ground. She went after him, resolute as ever.

"Not well enough," she replied.

He grabbed the ball before she could and proceeded to aim for the basket again.

But she was stubborn. She jumped again when he did and reached for it, but this time, she missed and he scored.

"Shit!" she cursed when she realized she hadn't managed to block him. As she landed back, she lost her balance and lay a hand on his chest for support.

He instinctively grabbed her shoulder to help her stand. They both stopped to catch their breaths. Then, they looked up at each other. Curious and tentative.

And realized that they were touching.

The contact was soft, but the pressure of her hand was hot, even against the fabric of his shirt. Her hand on his chest, warmth piercing through the shirt. His own on her shoulder, skin against skin. He could picture the contours of her hand, the curve of her palm, the feel of every single finger. The texture of her skin, its dampness after their game, the bump of her bicep.

It felt new. That closeness. That flutter of heat. That shared gaze.

It felt _good_.

She moved away. Slowly, uncertainly, as if she wanted to stay. His chest felt cold where her hand had been. He let go of her shoulder after that and stared at her as she slowly stepped back.

They didn't say anything for a few seconds.

"You won," she finally said, and he was glad she had broken the silence.

"I did."

She left and picked up the ball that lay at the court's edge. "Congrats." She turned to him. "Did you have dinner?"

"Not yet."

"You wanna grab something to eat? At my place?" she suggested. "I can make a few sandwiches. I'm hungry after all this jumping and running. I could try the Special you suggested, too."

The memory of the touch still lingered in the air but the perspective of going to her place made him forget it a bit. He already wondered how she had decorated her apartment; knowing her, it had to be eccentric, to the least. "Okay, why not. You'll feed me and get me drunk, it's not like I can refuse that."

She winked. "Perfect. Let's go, then."

* * *

He followed her through the corridor of the tenth floor and realized that her apartment was on the side that looked out over the court's greenery-covered wire fence, whereas his own looked out over the city —which was why he couldn't have known the court hadn't been destroyed. They stopped in front of a door that she unlocked. She invited him inside after switching on the lights.

He came in slowly, taking in the decoration, the colors, and the textures all around him. The photos on the entry table aligned with tiny bibelots, the bowl filled with random things —coins, ribbons, clippers, rubber bands. She removed her shoes and he did like her before going to the living-room. His eyes flew around the room, taking in the funny little details hidden here and there. An azure owl-shaped clock, a vase with bright-colored flowers on the coffee table, flowery cushions on her sofa, cylinder-shaped scented candles on the bar.

"Obviously, that's the living-room," she said, gesturing to the space behind her. He absent-mindedly nodded, still picking the quirky details hidden in every corner —were those candy cane hooks on her door? "You wanna see my bedroom?"

"Sure."

She led him through a corridor and opened the door to her bedroom. It was smaller than the living room, but still of a pretty decent size and just as neat and colorful. A white queen size bed sat in the middle of the room, drowning under colorful cushions of various patterns —flowers, polka-dots, stripes, checkers, she had them all. There was a neatly organized wooden desk on his right with a laptop on it, embedded in a set of shelves filled with funky items, small plants, and a few books.

He turned his attention to her vanity, crowded with cosmetics and makeup, perfumes and creams and oils. He walked toward it, peered inside a basket filled with nail polish bottles of all colors. He picked a bottle that promised fluorescent nail polish in the dark, and he was tempted to try it for a second, just to see his nails glow in the dark —how cool would that be? He put it back in the basket and turned to her closet, in front of which she was standing, indecisive.

"Do you mind if I take a shower first?" she asked.

"Nope. I can wait." His eyes caught the mosaic of broken mirrors she had stuck on her closet, a mandala reflecting his curious gaze a thousand times. "Did you make this?"

"Yep. I broke a huge mirror and decided to make something out of it instead of throwing it away. It might cancel the years of bad luck."

"You're superstitious?"

"No. I'm just unlucky."

He smirked. "You met me. You can't be unlucky."

She rolled eyes, unable to stay serious. "Oh, I should show you something else," she said and crawled under the desk. He heard her plug in something, and as soon as she did, tiny white lights lit up all around the room. She had hung Christmas lights on the walls, a necklace of stars running along their surface. On the wires, a few notes or photos hung thanks to small wooden clothespins. She switched off the ceiling light then.

The room almost looked magical with the tiny lights dancing on the walls like fireflies. It was relaxing, too. The dim lighting, the small glittering sparks on the walls, just bright enough for the small Polaroid photos that were hanging by the wires.

He smiled, impressed by how much effort she had put in the decoration. He didn't have half that patience.

"This is cool," he honestly commented while she switched the lights on again.

"I think so too. I'm quite proud of it. But anyway, I should take a shower now."

"What's stopping you? You've been standing in front of your closet for, like, a century."

"Well, I need to pick some clothes first."

"Is it that complicated?"

"Not when I'm alone."

"Well then, dress as if you were alone. Your home, your rules. I don't care," he shrugged it off.

But she arched eyebrows at him. "… Let's avoid that."

"Why? Is it that indecent?" he teased, a sly smile on his lips.

"See by yourself," she said and pulled something from a closet.

A dinosaur onesie.

He chuckled. "Sexy. Truly. The most suggestive piece of clothing I've ever seen."

"I know," she said, and she looked delighted. "Better than any lingerie."

"I'll confess I prefer lingerie."

"Well, I have that too," she said, and tipped her chin up. "But I'm not showing you."

He faked a pout. "Not even a peek?"

She eyed him from the corner of her eyes. "Maybe later." She put the onesie back in the closet. "That onesie was just for the joke, though. I actually rarely wear it. Only when I watch Jurassic Park."

"You don't just watch the dinosaur. You _become_ the dinosaur."

She pretended to roar. "Fear me, the great Hanasaurus-rex."

"A pink polka-dotted dinosaur living off flowers and fruits..."

She frowned. "No. I'm a voracious and ferocious dinosaur. _Fear me_."

"… Who sometimes ferociously meowed at other dinosaurs to claim their territory."

She crossed her arms. "You first deny my cuteness as a human, then my ferociousness as a dinosaur?"

"You can't expect me to imagine you as a ferocious dinosaur after showing me you basically live in a giant garden."

"Not even true. There are also polka dots and… and stuff."

"And stuff," he repeated, more than amused by her reaction. "Very dangerous stuff like pillows and bunny-shaped can openers. Or perhaps you wanted to strangle me with the fairy lights?"

"I wouldn't waste my fairy lights on you."

"Ouch," he laughed. "Nice one. I'll give you that."

She bowed. "You can wait here if you want. Or wherever you want, really."

But he had already slumped on her bed, crossing his arms beneath his head and his ankles. "Here is good."

She stopped for a moment, just to look at him and smile at his offhandedness, and went to the bathroom.

When she closed the door behind her, he sat on her bed and looked at the wall against it, opposed to the bathroom. He had seen it as soon as he had entered her room and had promised himself he would look at it when he could focus on it. Because it was hard to spend a few seconds on it when it was entirely filled with photos, notes, doodles, and so on. Pictures of her friends, of places and animals and little things she had captured in her shots. It was such a… "Hana" thing to do, to stick memories on a wall like a collection of good moments. He leaned closer to it.

He caught glimpses of a few friends that appeared more than some others. A boy with turquoise eyes and tousled chestnut hair, often seen with another boy with a short ponytail of black hair. A girl with strawberry blonde hair, dark lipstick and amber eyes. He recognized her father in some pictures, and assumed the blue-eyed, dark-haired woman was her mother. There was also her grandmother, with a tight expression but warm eyes.

Hana herself was in a lot of shots, hiking or sightseeing or baking, trying out clothes, doing silly things or hugging people. He smiled at her child self's grin with its missing tooth, at a toddler Hana carried on her mother's hips or koala-hugging her father, at a middle-school Hana in a basketball jersey, holding a cup with teammates who were all shorter than her. He also saw a few notes from her friends, cinema tickets, doodles, and a caricature of her that exaggerated her big eyes, her full lips, and her perky nose.

Her whole life was there. All those souvenirs retraced moments of her life that she had framed on her wall, and he felt like he was living those moments with her.

"That's the Wall of Fame," she commented as she came back from the bathroom. He briefly turned to look at her, but she was giving him her back as she searched for something in the vanity's drawers. "I forgot I was out of shower gel," she explained.

He swiveled back to the wall. "You gave it this name?" he asked, his eyes still roaming all over the pictures —here was Hana with a green caterpillar, or hugging a cow, balancing herself on a skateboard when she was a child or dressed as a Disney princess for Halloween.

"Yep. I wouldn't be able to tell you why, though. Must be because I'm famous. Everybody loves me."

He scoffed, still pulled by the pictures and the stories they told, but finally tore his gaze away from them. He glanced at her as she finally found what she wanted. She had tied her hair in a thick bun on her head and had removed her big flowy jersey, but she was wearing a sports bra beneath it, the kind that could be worn on their own.

Still, it showed most of her back, and his eyes wandered over her small back muscles, her biceps, her defined waist, the beauty spots scattered on her skin like cities on a map.

A map he suddenly felt like exploring.

Looking away would have been more appropriate after that thought, but he kept staring anyway. Pulled by the sight of her bare skin. And only then, he noted something strange. Like the beginning of a scar peeking on her hip.

"Is that —" he started, never finishing his sentence.

She turned to face him, confused.

He saw it then. A long scar on her stomach, a mess of puckered skin hooked around her hip, crossing her abs. He stared at the perfect slice that this scar had once been, and Ophelia's words rewound once again in his mind.

"That's a result of a failed mission."

His eyes shot up to hers. Hearing it from her mouth made it all too real.

"It's just a scar," she said.

"What happened?"

Her fingers brushed the scar. "I was chasing the Freigo Whisper for a mission. Back when nobody knew how powerful he actually was. I failed, like a lot of others. This is the smallest wound I got from the mission," she mused in a much too light-hearted tone. Almost casual. A tone that hid a long story she wouldn't tell tonight. So, he didn't press the issue.

He remained silent for a moment, then stood up. She gave him a quizzical look as he fumbled in his pocket. "I knew some of what you told me. I met someone who knew about you. And gave in to the curiosity," he explained, pulled by a sudden need for honesty. It didn't feel right not to tell her.

"How did my name pop in the conversation? Do I have such a big effect on you?" she joked. There was no reproach in her voice, but he felt a hint of worry that troubled him. She was doing the whole joking-to-hide-that-I'm-actually-freaking-out thing again. He almost regretted telling her, but he had to anyway. He had to remove her name from his list.

He opened his palm and showed her the bullet. "No, I'm just looking for whoever conjured this. And it seems like you're a conjurer, so your name was on the list I got."

The almost imperceptible worry fled from her face, and she relaxed. She took the bullet from his hand, and in her other hand, she conjured an even smaller bullet. "I make .22 caliber bullets only. Though I guess you have no way to check I'm telling the truth."

"Neither do you."

She looked him in the eye. "I do believe you, though. You don't make my shady-guy-must-not-trust radar ring."

The corner of his lips faintly shot up. "That's what you call faith."

"True." She paused. "I have faith in you, then."

Silence fell around them then, but not the uncomfortable type. This one conjured a new intimacy where words weren't needed. Where there was just them and the echo of her words, of their tiny token of trust.

Eventually, though, she went to the bathroom, and he lay on the bed with a long sigh. Her scar was still branded in his mind, along with the curiosity about that Whisper, joining the hodgepodge of thoughts in his busy brain. But after a moment, it dissolved as he relaxed, replaced by the constellation of beauty spots on her back. The wish of trailing them was still hot in his fingers. He thought again of her hand on his chest, of their closeness, their mixed breaths. Of the warmth in her eyes, on her skin, in her hand.

He lazily reached for the TV remote controller and switched on the TV, trying to take his mind off these thoughts. The channel he stumbled upon was showing a news anchor smiling at the person she was interviewing, but their words didn't reach him. He wasn't in the mood to watch the news. He zapped repeatedly, bored eyes taking in the flashes of colors, the laughs he interrupted again and again. He finally stopped on a music video channel.

A soft ballad was playing, nothing like the bouncy pop he usually listened to, but it was calming, and fit the mood. He put the remote controller on the nightstand and crossed his arms beneath his head.

 _There was a reason  
I collided into you._

He closed his eyes. It felt surreal to be there of all places, on the comfortable duvet of her bed, surrounded by the fairy lights and the frames of her life stuck on the wall. And he felt so serene. Peaceful. For a minute, the world ceased to exist. His breathing slowed, the calm settling in his whole body. The thoughts stopped flying in his mind, the busy speculations stilled. There was just the deep, velvety voice of the singer, the water that poured in the bathtub, Hana's out of tune singing. The mellow feel of her bed, the scent of grapefruit on the blanket, the warmth of the room.

And, slowly peeking in his mind, like cities on a map, the tempting beauty spots on her back.

 _This feeling begins just like a spark,  
tossing and turning inside of your heart,  
exploding in the dark._

* * *

A/N: So here you go! Half of that chapter is basically just Hana and Killua fooling around. I hope you had as much fun reading their interaction as I had to write it. They're ridiculously satisfying to write –always joking and being smug and teasing each other.

Oh also! Those lines at the end are actually lyrics from a lovely song called _Here with me_ by Susie Suh x Robot Koch, check it out if you need a super soft song to sleep to!

That chapter went through heavy editing, and I hope it sounds good now. I changed so many things and removed an entire dialogue.

 **What did you think about the chapter?** About the Hanallua interaction in this chapter? About Lynd and Ophelia? About the tiny interaction between Hana and Thomas (and June in the background)?

Let me know what you thought! You can leave guest reviews if you're shy, but just know that every single review counts, and every single review makes me really happy. Even if it's just a sentence or two, it counts. And I'm not just talking about myself, but about writers in general; when you leave some feedback to a writer, you can be sure that you'll be part of the reason they keep writing.

Anyway, that A/N is coming to an end. Before I leave, I just wanted to say that I _might_ update late next time, as in, a day late or so. The updating day falls right between my exams and I really don't want to fail… The chapters are all done up until chapter 12 (except one scene in chapter 11 that I'm too lazy to write hmm) but they still need to be reread and edited before I post them (to spare you the occasional grammar mistake or the clumsy writing I had a year ago). So **I might update on Thursday instead of Wednesday next week** , sorry about that! But I'll compensate with an action-packed chapter where a very special character makes an appearance, soooo... You'll see! Starting from chapter 5, the plot is thickening.

Bye and have a nice day!


	6. Too Familiar

**A/N** : Heyyy! How are you guys?

I know I'm way too early for this update, but rather than being a day late, I thought I might as well be a few days early. I rarely study on Friday nights (though I probably should….) so I thought it would be better to do something productive instead of wasting time on Tumblr.

So yeah, here you go, a surprise early update!

Again, thank you all for your support and your feedback! Your response helps me survive the dreaded finals. College has this way to make me feel stupid and useless and completely lost, so at least this fic is something I have control over, and sharing it with you is the best thing ever. (Shoutout to my bestie who always knows how to make me smile when college is trying to kill me! *cries*)

Okay, enough rambling! On to the chapter.

Just a tiny warning, there's definitely bloody content in this chapter. So watch out.

* * *

Chapter 5: **Too familiar**

* * *

 **11:03 P.M.**

She came out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later, dressed in beige flannel pajama pants and a pink top. She found him lying on her bed, his arms crossed behind his head.

He rose bored eyes to her. "It was about time. I was about to hibernate."

"I'm deeply sorry for making your majesty wait," she feigned to apologize.

He sat up. "I'm hungry. And bored. And it's your fault."

"You can't be both a spoilt kid and a pretentious king. You have to choose."

He sat cross-legged and tilted his head, pretending to think. And looked pretty damn adorable while doing so. "No. I can be everything I want to be," he said.

"Spoilt king kid it is, then," she concluded.

"Pfft." He stood up. "So, are we preparing those sandwiches or not?"

"We?"

"What? You were planning on making them alone?"

"Yeah. You're supposed to be my guest," she argued.

He shrugged. "I can lend you a hand."

"Okay then."

She led him to the kitchen, took all the ingredients from the fridge and put them on the counter.

When they were done slicing, cooking, mixing, sprinkling, spreading –and chatting – they cut the sandwiches in halves. They set down the plate on the bar and sat on the stools.

"Bon appétit," she said with a goofy grin, eager to try the dinner they had improvised. He smiled back. Whether it was because of her butchered pronunciation or of her own grin, she wasn't sure, but she didn't mind at all.

She munched on the bread, realizing she had been hungry without really noticing it. The food was a blessing after all the jumping and running and sweating. She also realized it was the first time they stayed together that long and actually did something together other than talking. It was pleasant.

"How did you learn to cook?" she said out of the blue, remembering the way he had stirred the eggs in the bowl with a hand while watching over those that were on the stove with the other.

"I've been alone for quite some time. I'd better know how to feed myself," he joked.

"Travelling?"

"Sort of, yeah."

She tilted her head. "Sort of?"

"I left my parents' house when I was eleven. I've been traveling since then." He stopped to finish his sandwich. She noted he had said his parents' house, not his. Did it mean he didn't see it as his home? "I first traveled with my best friend, then alone. It's only been three years since I sort of settled in a job, but it still makes me move quite a bit."

Her interest flared up at his words. He had mentioned his best friend before, but she had never gotten an opportunity to ask about him. "You traveled with your best friend?"

"Yeah. We met during the hunter exam. I didn't really have anything in mind when we did, so I stuck with him."

"And where did you go?"

He rested his head on his hand. "Padokia, Whale Island, York Shin. We completed Greed Island and went to NGL too, among others."

She widened her eyes. "NGL? The country was wrecked six years ago. The whole Chimera Ants incident."

"I know. I was there."

"You took part to the Chimera Ants war?" she incredulously asked again.

"I did." There was a hint of amusement in his voice.

She blinked. "Okay, this is too much amazement for one night. You finished Greed Island _and_ fought in the Ants war and I'd never heard your name before?"

"Were you supposed to?"

"Well, yeah. You were thirteen and you were fighting the ants. I was barely taking the exam. I bet you have your own Wikipedia page."

He gave her a questioning look. "I wouldn't go that far."

"What's your last name? Perhaps it will ring a bell to me."

A flicker of uncertainty passed through his eyes. It was faint but definitely there. "Zoaldyeck."

His name did ring a bell. Every hunter had heard of the infamous Zoaldyeck family atop their infamous mountain with their infamous activities. But Killua didn't seem like he had any ties with his family, or at least with their activities. "I've heard of them."

His expression was unreadable. "Of course you have."

"Do you still see them?"

"No. I cut ties with them when I left for the exam."

Curiosity was nudging her to ask. "Would it be indiscreet to know why?"

"No, it's fine. I was just tired of the family business. I wanted to choose my own path and live a normal life."

She smiled. "A normal life completing legendary games and fighting giant human-eating ants." He managed a small smile, but he seemed uneasy. "Are you okay?" she asked, worried of what he could be thinking.

He didn't reply for a few seconds. "Yeah."

"Is it about what you told me?" she said, and he nodded. "Were you worried I'd be scared?"

He avoided her gaze for a moment before finally looking at her. "A bit." He wasn't done speaking, but he was hesitant. "I like your company. I wouldn't want to scare you away."

Her heart lurched at his words. It was the first time he told her he liked her company. "It wouldn't scare me away. I was surprised but that's all. You have nothing to do with them anymore. You're you, not them. And so far what I've seen of you is pretty amazing. That's what matters."

She was sincere when she said that. It wasn't like she hadn't been startled — he did come from the most renowned family of assassins — but he was still Killua. He hadn't chosen his family, but he had chosen his own future. If anything, it further showed just how strong he was, and a part of her bubbled with wonder. How tough was he to grow past a lifetime of twisted morals drilled in his head? And how inherently strong did he have to be, even as a child, to stand for his own self, his own individuality, his own goals?

He relaxed. "Pretty amazing?" he repeated, and the playful glint was thankfully back in his eyes.

"Yeah. Well, not as much as me, but still pretty amazing."

He chuckled. God, she liked the sound of his laugh. It was obsessing. "Okay. I guess you're not scared enough to be modest."

"I'm not scared at all, Killua," she assured. Then, in a more joking tone: "Me? Scared of you? Have you seen me? I'm the most badass girl in town. Ferocious Hanasaurus-rex, furious polka-dotted dinosaur."

"Fair enough. I believe you. You do look pretty ferocious. Like a puppy, kinda."

"Rude." She took another sandwich. "You weren't finished telling me about your travels," she prompted. So curious about him after all these unexpected twists.

"Hmm. Well after the Ants war, my best friend and I went separate ways. So I traveled a bit, looking for something to do."

"You mean, like a specialization?"

"I don't know. I don't think that's what I had in mind. I just didn't know what I wanted to do so I moved and explored, hoping I'd find something that was for me." He removed an olive from a sandwich, discarding it on the plate. "I visited Leorio and helped him when he flew to remote places to care for the citizens there. He would tend people's wounds while I looked after the kids. And I liked it. Kids are fun. But it lacked something. It wasn't _my_ job. It was Leorio's."

She pictured him playing with kids, making silly faces to toddlers so they could laugh, carrying babies on his hip while their parents were under Leorio's care, and it moved something in her. Butterflies, probably. Fluttering in her belly. Completely uncalled for, but hey, butterflies were never really called for. They just happened.

"So you didn't see yourself doing that all your life," she reworded his thoughts, ignoring —or trying to — the butterflies.

"I don't even know if I'll be a crime hunter all my life. It's just that, so far, it's the job I've liked the most."

"And how did you find it? I mean, how did you think of becoming a crime hunter?" she asked.

"Another friend of mine told me to look more into it. I visited him four years ago, right before coming to Megamshill for the first time. He's a blacklist hunter and at the time there were troubles in his workplace in York Shin, so I helped him a bit. It was an opportunity to see if blacklist was for me."

"And it wasn't."

"Nope. It was cool, but I don't know why I'd spend my life tracking dangerous criminals. Blacklist hunters go to huge lengths for that. It's the kind of dedication I don't have. My friend immediately saw it wasn't for me, so he told me to look more into the crime hunter specialty. He thought it would fit me."

"And it did."

"Yeah. At least until now. It's been three years and I like it. It's not boring. It's intellectually challenging. It always changes and shifts and I have to adapt myself to every new case. And I'm a freelance so I don't have too many boundaries — I play by _my_ rules.

"Besides, it's the kind of jobs you can't really do by yourself. You need to see people and ask for their help in their different fields. You're the one doing the whole investigation, but you don't always have all the necessary skills. You can't analyze the DNA yourself, or hack databases without the required skills, or make your own gadgets or go through years and years of archives without the proper access. At some point, you have to see people."

She listened to him, and for a moment she thought he was speaking on her behalf. "I agree. There's always a point when you'll have to stop and contact someone for help or info or assistance. You're constantly meeting new people."

"Yeah. And that's one of the things I like the most about this job. I've met some really cool people thanks to it."

"Like me," she boasted.

He smiled. "Now what about you?" he asked, playing with a toothpick and stabbing breadcrumbs with it.

"I never really tested a lot of jobs before this one. My mom is a crime hunter so I grew up in this world and fell for it. For the same reasons you mentioned, mainly. I took the exam when I was thirteen, did some missions in York Shin as an apprentice at the HCDS, then came back when I was fifteen. I started working then. I first wanted to be an HCDS agent and work with my —" She froze. "My teacher." Uneasiness crawled its way in her throat. "But then I changed my mind when I was sixteen. I paused for a few months then, and chose to work on my own account."

He didn't ask why, but he had surely understood. She picked an olive he had left, hoping he wouldn't ask more questions, and ate it. She felt like she was cheating. He had told her a lot about himself, about how he had found this job, but she didn't want to talk about her failures. She wanted to have a good time.

"Did you make this?" he changed the topic, and the knot loosened in her stomach.

She turned to where he was nodding. He was showing the set of baskets linked by thin chains and tied to the ceiling. "Yeah," she replied, more eagerly. "I had a few empty baskets of different sizes. The ones they use to sell beauty products or fruits. So I tied them to the chains. I thought it would be cool to reuse them."

"Hmm. So you're a lot in DIY."

"Yeah. It's my only way to express my creativity. I suck at drawing. Or singing, for that matter."

He snorted. "I noticed." He was still staring at the baskets. "What's inside?"

She hopped off her stool and walked to the baskets. She grabbed the lowest one and turned it to show him. She had cut in small spaces in the baskets to place a transparent screen. "See by yourself."

"Fruits. Lots of fruits," he said.

"Yep." She let go of the basket. "Do you want some? There are apples, grapefruits, and bananas. But I have berries in the fridge too."

"We could share berries."

"As you wish." She opened the fridge and took the berries out. "I still need to make you taste the Special. You're still up for it?"

He smirked. "Of course."

She took three bottles out of the fridge, of carbonated water, grapefruit juice, and pomegranate syrup. She put them on the counter and reached for the vodka in a cupboard. She started mixing the ingredients as she did at the bar while they chatted about their experiences as crime hunters.

"So you're the one who solved the Wonderland case?" she asked. Rumor had it that even Allan Fox hadn't been able to solve it, but nobody had ever told her _who_ had solved it. To think he was right in front of her, at this very moment, moving olives and breadcrumbs in the empty plate to make a smiley face.

"It wasn't that much of a big deal actually."

She rolled eyes. "The best crime hunters in Megamshill couldn't solve it, but nah, no big deal."

"I mean it. Do you know why nobody could catch him? It's not because he left no hints."

"I heard that he was very unpredictable and untraceable. That he did leave hints on the crime scenes but they were unusable. I was never told why, though."

"He was pretty creative," he started. "A specialist, I believe. His hints were pieces of his memories he slipped in tiny flasks or cookies. And he always left notes next to them. "Eat me" or "Drink me"."

"Hence the case's name," Hana noted.

"Yep. He was a hardcore fan." He ate a berry. It left a small red patch on his lower lip that he licked. "The hints were analyzed. They were filled with poison. A lethal dose. Could kill you twice, probably."

She grimaced. "How annoying is that. That the hints are right in front of you but you can't exploit them."

He smirked. " _I_ could. I wasn't kidding when I said I could stand arsenic."

"For real?"

"Yeah."

She stared at him. "You ate the hints?"

"I did. I could then retrace his position thanks to his memories. And ta-da, it was over."

She nodded. "Pretty cool. And how can you stand poison that well? It's not exactly common to meet people like you."

"It was part of my training when I was a child." He shrugged. "I could stand poison from a very young age."

She felt her stomach churn. She handed him his glass with a tight expression. Of course, the Zoaldyeck children had to undergo severe training to acquire their skills. There was a reason they seemed invincible, even as toddlers. Yet, the thought of a child poisoned by his own parents made her sick. It didn't help much that the said child was right in front of her at this very moment and that she cared about him.

"Hana, relax," he said. "That was a long time ago."

"I know." She loosened up. "Good that it came in handy."

He ran his finger along the edge of the glass. "You're still upset."

"No," she lied.

"Too bad you can't kill me that way."

"I know right. I had totally planned to poison you and you ruined everything," she joked along, relaxing.

"You'll have to bear with me."

"Good," she said. "I like bearing with you."

He glanced at her, a small smile settling on his face. She finished making her own drink, sat back next to him, and they drank together.

They talked for a long time after that. She wasn't sure just how long, but they talked a lot. About their jobs, their hobbies, the things they had in common. About some movies they had seen and loved. About events they had been to and people they had met. Somehow, she had forgotten that time framed this evening.

He was the one who reminded her. He glanced at the clock and snorted. It was 2 A.M.

"Well. Seems like we have a lot to say," he said. He seemed content.

"True." She was a bit disappointed that their conversation was coming to an end, but now that it was almost over, she felt the first signs of sleepiness hit her. She had been so engrossed in the conversation she had forgotten that she was actually pretty tired, but talking to him had energized her. She stifled a yawn.

"I should go. We both have to wake up early."

She yawned, this time unable to stifle it, and wiped the tiny yawn-tears from her eyes. "Yeah." She walked him to the door. "We should do things like that more often," she thought aloud.

"Next time will be at my place."

She grinned. "Okay. Thanks for staying. It was fun."

"It was." He turned to her. "I'll see you soon, then."

"I'll see you."

She watched him as he left, silent footsteps and smooth shadows. She closed the door when he reached the elevator, the sight of his broad back still fresh in her mind. Her apartment seemed too quiet now that he was gone. So empty, yet still vibrating with his presence. She did the dishes and cleaned the cupboard, leaving the kitchen as neat as if it had never been used before, and headed to her room. When she was done with the whole before-bed ritual, she slumped on her bed, suddenly conscious of the tiredness heavy in her limbs and her eyelids.

But it was a good tired. The kind of tired that slowly led her to sleep, a reward after a good time. It settled in her body, warm and cozy. For a moment, she thought she had merged with her bed.

Yet, before she completely drifted to sleep, she grabbed her phone, clumsy fingers sweeping on the screen, and typed a message.

'Good night,' she sent, as simple as that. To Killua. 'Sleep well.'

He replied. 'Good night. Have sweet dreams (aka dream of me).'

Her lips stretched into a sleepy smile. She locked her phone and put it on her nightstand.

She gave in to sleep shortly after that.

A restful, quiet sleep.

* * *

 **Sunday, March 29th**

 **1:16 A.M.**

Hana and Lynd had been at the party for two hours. Two hours of dancing and drinking and talking and laughing. And it felt. So. Good. As if all the stress was pouring out of her in sweat and laughs and each glass drowned it further and further. She imagined it gurgling in the vodka and felt victorious for the first time in a while.

The party itself was going well. Wild, even. So far, she had seen three couples swiftly —or not — disappear to the VIP rooms and come back —or not — fifteen minutes later, disheveled and sweaty. And five people had staggered in the restroom to vomit. And the barista changed twice. And the DJ… well, the DJ was having the time of his life.

After her last shot of liquor, Hana left the crowd of laughing people to lean against the wall. Just to have a moment. Her head weighed tons. She sighed, finding comfort in the hardness of the wall against her bare back.

The small moment of clarity made her all too aware of her surroundings. Of the people dancing like a single undulating wave. Of the glasses filled and emptied again. Of the arms in the air and the laughs drowned by the loud music. Of the acidic smell of sweat mixed with the alcohol and the food.

Of herself, her breathing, her light-headedness, her whole body that hummed with the music. She swallowed, relished in the alcohol's bitterness at the back of her throat. Her salvation.

She was about to join Lynd on the dancefloor when her phone vibrated in her pocket. She reached for it, wriggling it out of her jeans. It was an automatically generated message. Something about bargains in a store she really liked. She hit the 'back' button but stopped before locking her phone, her eyes stuck on a conversation she had had not so long ago.

Killua.

Slowly, she leaned back on the wall, staring at his name. What could he be doing at this time? It was over 1 A.M. so he could as well be sleeping. She twiddled her thumbs above the screen, moved by an urge to talk to him. She wasn't sure why exactly —she was starting to get drunk anyway, she wasn't sure of anything anymore. But a part of her, the sober part, sort of wanted to talk to him. An anchor to the sober world.

So, she texted him. A brief, 'Hi.'

He texted back two minutes later, and she felt her heart lurch with giddiness –a feeling she normally rarely had — when his message popped up. 'Hey. What's up?'

Her lips shot up in a tired smile. 'I'm drunk.'

'Should I be offended or flattered that you thought of me while being drunk?' he replied. She could almost picture his lazy smirk as she read this message.

'Flattered. I usually don't think of anyone when I'm drunk. Let alone some smug ass who can't appreciate a super cool dinosaur like me.' She stared at her reply as it loaded in the conversation, impatient for his next words.

'Good to know,' he said. 'That this smug ass peoples your thoughts. Even in your darkest times.'

'Well, if it weren't for you I'd have gone for another glass.'

'Good thing I intervened then. Without meaning to. But I guess I'm so awesome I even shine when I don't try to.'

She shook her head, although she found him strangely endearing. It had to be the alcohol getting to her head. 'Of course. But anyway, tell me a random fact about you.'

'Hm? What kind of fact?'

'Whatever. The more outrageous the better,' she smirked.

He was online, but he didn't type anything for a moment. 'I dislike peppers.'

She chuckled. 'I am so offended right now. How dare you.'

'Yeah? Outrageous enough?'

'Definitely. I am shocked.'

He sent a smirking emoji. 'Now you tell me. Something equally outrageous. I raised the bar very high, mind you.'

She looked at the ceiling. 'I've never eaten a tiramisu,' she wrote.

'Wow. I'm so ashamed of you right now. I can't be seen with you ever again.' She didn't reply to that right away, because he was typing something. In a pretty erratic way. It made her curious. 'We seriously have to fix that,' he eventually replied.

She blinked, the same giddiness from earlier back in her head, fluttering and bouncy. 'You mean you'll make me eat a tiramisu?'

'Yeah. We could go in town. I know a nice restaurant. They make awesome tiramisus.'

Her lips curled in a small smile. 'Are you inviting me?'

'Yeah?' She stared at his reply. The perspective of going out in town with him made her feel warm. It was confusing, especially that she wasn't the type to get all excited when she went out with boys —not anymore. She had had her share of dates and relationships, and this wasn't even a date. And yet, she couldn't help that tiny prickling sensation, so eager already. 'You don't want to?' he sent after a few seconds. She realized she had gone silent and immediately felt bad.

'Yes! Or wait, I mean yes for the invitation, not for the "You don't want to" like you get what I mean?' she wrote, but she still felt the need to correct herself. 'Or well I mean. Yes. Yes I wanna eat a tiramisu with you.'

'Awesome. When are you free? I'm free tomorrow btw.'

'So am I!'

'So, tomorrow around noon?'

'Perfect,' she replied, biting her cheeks to tame the grin on her face. 'I count on you to erase my Italian dessert ignorance.'

'Yeah. It's time to give you some culture. Though I don't know if it's a good idea to make plans with a drunk person.'

'I'm not THAT drunk. Though I'll probably be later in the night. Now tell me another fact.'

'I once emptied a one-kilo Nutella jar in one go,' he said after a moment.

'I didn't even know this was humanly possible,' she mused. The thought alone made her sick. 'Please tell me you were ill afterward.'

'Nope. I just couldn't sleep for three days straight.'

She sent a laughing emoticon. 'You don't say.'

'Your turn,' he sent.

She found a nearby seat and slumped on it, leaning on the back. 'I once posed for an artist friend.'

'Your friend paints dinosaurs?'

She smirked. 'No. Nude paintings.'

His silence was fairly eloquent. She bit her lower lip. A part of her hoped he felt hot and bothered. There was something exciting about swaying him, especially that he was always so composed.

'Interesting.'

She puckered her lips, a bit disappointed by his reply. Of course, she couldn't expect him to go all panicky in a texting conversation. 'She gave me some of them.'

'Next time we hang out I'm scouring your apartment for them.'

Now that was a reaction she preferred. 'Why? You just need to ask.'

'Ask? For what? The drawings or the live model? Wouldn't mind either.'

A smirking emoji was all he got for an answer. She told him she had to go, quite happy to leave him hanging on that thought. She got up, made her way to the bar to order a cocktail, checking the dancefloor for Lynd.

She found her standing near the bar, instead. Twirling a strand of her hair. Glaring at the drink in front of her. And decidedly not listening to the guy talking to her.

Hana narrowed her eyes, studying him. Fake plastic smile. Personal-space-invader posture. I-want-to-get-in-your-pants gaze polished to look casual. The whole asshole package, basically.

And from the look of it, Lynd didn't appreciate his company.

Which didn't make any sense, because Lynd wasn't the type to tolerate assholes breathing the same air as her. Yet, here she was. Keeping herself at a safe distance from him and casting a look showing how desperately she wanted to increase that distance, but staying anyway. And that was so confusing.

The guy leaned in toward Lynd, which made her move in the opposite direction like a repulsed magnet. In that moment, Hana thought it was about time for her to intervene and started walking toward Lynd. Or well, that was what she had intended to do. Until she heard Lynd sigh in exasperation.

"I can't even bring myself to pretend you're interesting," she mumbled. She got up and saw Hana, rolling eyes at her while discreetly pointing at the guy near her. He was starting to protest when she dismissed him, waving him off like he was just some kind of fly hovering around. A few people laughed as Lynd left them.

"I thought for a moment you had developed masochistic tendencies," Hana joked when Lynd reached her.

"I wish. At least I would have derived some kind of pleasure from this conversation."

"Why did you stay?"

Lynd shrugged. "I was taking a break from dancing and got lost in thought. Before I realized it he had joined me." She sighed. "I have a bad feeling. I feel like something is going to happen."

Hana squeezed her friend's shoulder. "I can't promise you nothing will happen. But let's try to enjoy the party anyway, okay?"

Lynd shrugged and gave a face that showed she would try. Even though she was the one who had suggested this party to Hana, Lynd was restless. Not that Hana wasn't thinking about her problems —the Whisper was still fleeting somewhere in the back of her mind — but the alcohol helped a bit. At the very least, her problems seemed lighter. They were still there, but they hovered instead of weighing her down. That was something already, right?

She brushed the thought off and led Lynd toward the crowd. They were exchanging a few words with some people when a cute guy approached them. Much, much cuter than the asshole who was still leering Lynd. With dimples in his cheeks and a bright smile and very warm hazel eyes. He introduced himself as Sen. He was cool. Charming, polite, with a good sense of humor. Not too pushy, or annoying, or boring. They even had some things in common, such as their love for mathematics or basketball. Her perfect target, basically.

But for some reason, she didn't try to flirt all that much with him. While he talked to them, Hana's thoughts drifted toward another cute boy. With pretty blue eyes and fluffy white hair. With a cutting kind of beauty and an elegant gait. With a lazy smirk and a silvery laugh. A cute boy who was way too much in her thoughts, lately.

She reached for her phone in her pocket, her only link to him. She was tempted to take it, message him and chat for the rest of the night. Which was not how she usually spent her parties.

A little voice was still urging her to text him when Lynd's phone rang. She apologized, distancing herself from Hana and Sen. Hana watched her while Sen talked, absent-mindedly replying to his questions. She stopped listening when Lynd's eyes widened. Sen noticed that something was wrong. "Is everything okay?" he asked.

"I'm gonna check," Hana replied. She brushed Lynd's arm. "Lynd?"

Lynd stared at nothing, silent. "I have to go," she then said, shoving her phone in her bag.

"What? Why? What happened?"

"A murder," Lynd said, and grimaced. "A butchery."

"The same murderer you told me about?"

"I'm not sure. My associate just told me the crime scene looked familiar." She put her phone in her pocket. "I need to go there as soon as I can."

"I'll come with you." Lynd frowned. She was about to protest when Hana continued. "You wouldn't have accepted to let me go alone if it were me."

Lynd nodded. "Okay."

Hana found Sen before they left to apologize. Then, they were both out in the cold night.

* * *

Lynd took the driver seat as Hana sat next to her. She started the car. "Hello?" she called, trying to reach her associate. "I need the address. I'm on my way to the scene."

After a few interferences, a voice rose above the noise. "17, Oakland Street in the Pit. Building C of a social housing building."

"Okay." Lynd put the revolving light on the car to roll faster among the cars. "I knew it. I fucking knew it."

Hana glanced at her, feeling her impatience and irritation as if it were her own. There was a lot she wasn't saying. That she couldn't have night off without having to worry. That she couldn't rest for just a few hours. That she couldn't stay off guard for just a minute. But Lynd didn't complain more than that, so her unspoken words floated in the air. Thick like a fog.

They quickly reached the neighborhood. Bright lights gave in to pitch black and tall buildings to gray walls and narrow windows. Hana watched as the surroundings morphed into the Pit, Megamshill's most problematic neighborhood. There was an urban legend that said the Pit had this name because once someone ended there, they could never get out. And it wasn't entirely wrong. It was known to be home to many people who were spiraling deeper in deeper into whatever issues they had. Whether it was because of money —or lack thereof — drugs, prostitution or gang fights, the Pit didn't let go of its inhabitants.

Sometimes, it even claimed them forever.

A chill ran down Hana's spine as Lynd parked the car near other police cars. Her assistant Jino was waiting for her outside, a thick jacket on him to protect himself from the cold March air. Hana threw her own coat around herself.

He saw them arrive and walked toward them as they got out of the car.

"Jino, tell me everything," Lynd said. They hurried toward the building's entrance.

"The neighbor called about thirty minutes ago. She had heard screams and fighting and panicked. Two men, she said. Brothers. She's known them for a few months. We arrived about twenty minutes ago. Ellen and a few other officers are already upstairs."

"What about the culprit?" Lynd asked.

"No trace of him. Ellen ordered a few officers to ask if anyone saw the car, but there are a lot of neighbors, and people are scared to talk. But we do know his name. Mikna Coal, killed his brother Aven Coal who had come to see him." They reached the staircase. The elevator was out of order. "Eleventh floor," Jino said.

"Call the headquarters, order them to look in our files for this name. Contact the Megamshill TV studio and request an urgent broadcast message, with Mikna Coal's name and photo. And mobilize a few units around the city, especially the places with a lot of people. We have a murderer on the run. We don't want more dead people," Lynd ordered.

"Roger that."

Hana scanned her surroundings as they climbed the stairs. The building was plain and dilapidated, with graffiti on the walls and on some doors. Some steps were cracked at the edge, and they were all so narrow even a child's foot might not fit on them.

They stopped on the eleventh floor. They knew they had reached it even before seeing the number. There was a commotion in the corridor. A few officers were trying to block the scene from curious neighbors. Some mothers carried their wailing toddlers while officers questioned them on their threshold. An old woman was giving a sugar to a man who had fainted. A dog was barking. It was a mess.

Lynd pushed through the crowd, Hana at her heels. They went inside the apartment, removing the yellow "KEEP OUT" on their way.

And they saw it. Lying in a pool of blood, in the center of the living room. The corpse, stabbed at different places. In the stomach. In the throat. In the chest. Broken and disarticulated, like a discarded puppet. A young policeman was struggling to keep his eyes on the corpse.

Lynd stiffened and frowned. "Have you managed to collect anything?"

The young officer flinched. "Y-Yes. Ellen has found some hair I think," he stuttered.

Hana circled the corpse, conjuring Sae's analyzer mode at her wrist and masking it with In. Lynd stepped closer to her. "There is no nen on the corpse," Hana whispered. "According to Sae, he's been dead for around twenty-five minutes. He was still alive when the neighbor called."

"With these wounds, he couldn't have survived too long. But it means our man left shortly before we arrived." She turned around, closing her eyes and walking in the room. "Twenty minutes from here, he could be anywhere."

An officer called for Lynd. "Chief! A witness saw the car before Coal left."

Lynd's eyes snapped open. "Tell me everything."

"A gray Volkswagen Polo, with a broken headlamp. He couldn't figure out the car plate, though," she said.

"It's fine. Place police cars along the main roads, with armed officers, and add that to the broadcast message."

Hana listened as Lynd gave orders to all her officers and made calls to the headquarters to give directions to the laboratories and the analysts. Little by little, she was taking control of the situation.

Meanwhile, Hana examined the corpse. Sae hadn't revealed much more information, apart from the time of the death and the absence of nen. Hana looked around the room. Blood had splashed on the walls, and some was still trickling down the table's feet. As if the men had wrestled before the murderer managed to pin his brother down. She watched behind her at the evidence Ellen had gathered. Nothing that could be exploited immediately.

She went to the bedroom to move on with the investigation. The first thing she noticed was the stench. Like something was rotting somewhere in the room. And that definitely wasn't reassuring.

She proceeded as she usually did: first, use Sae, then upturn everything, look everywhere, in every corner and every drawer. Sae quickly gave something strange. An abnormal rate of metal in the mattress, as well as a blurry, unanalyzable mass. She tried to lift it and realized it was too light to be a spring mattress. She turned it and saw badly-sewn stitches in the fabric.

She frowned.

She was about to cut through the mattress when the young, terrified officer appeared at the door. She glanced at him. "What's wrong?"

"I… I was wondering if you needed help. I can't look at the corpse any longer."

Her gaze softened. He had to be older than her, but he looked so inexperienced. "You're new?"

He nodded. "First day."

"Ow. How lucky. What's your name?"

"Hefir," he answered, calmer.

"Hefir. Nice name. Well, I could use some help. Give me some latex gloves and lift the mattress for me."

"Gloves?" he repeated.

She nodded. He disappeared for a moment and came back with two white gloves. "This?"

"Thanks." She wore the gloves, stretching the tips so they fit on her fingers. She reached for a knife in her boot and stabbed the mattress, slicing it open. As she had expected, the stench increased.

Hefir widened his eyes. "What's… inside?"

"Nothing we're gonna like." She took a deep breath. Opened wide the sliced mattress. She saw knives, first. Amid all the foam stuffed in the mattress. She requested a tray, which Hefir hurried to bring. She placed the knives in the tray. One. Two. And more. There were five different knives. Big and small ones. Hefir was gaping.

Hana looked once more inside the mattress, trying to figure what was left. She distinguished a flower. She cast a look at Hefir, who brought her another tray.

She reached for the remaining object.

Or limb.

Because what she grabbed definitely wasn't an object. It was too soft and fleshy.

It was a human arm.

She pulled it out of the mattress and let it drop in the tray with a thick splash. Hefir let out a shout as she stepped back, hastily getting rid of the latex gloves.

She stared at the arm. A gooey mess of half-eaten flesh. Maggots roamed on the limb. She realized the flower she had seen was a tattoo, also half-eaten.

Her stomach churned. She heard Hefir throw up behind her and people run to the bedroom.

"Hana?!" Lynd called.

Hana turned to look at her. She wasn't sure what to say —what should people say when they find decaying limbs in unlikely places? — so she just showed the tray. The arm and its nest of maggots.

Lynd gulped, moving a hand to her mouth. "No."

Jino coughed, moving to Hefir's spot to help him out of the room.

"You told me the first corpse missed an arm?" Hana said. "I think I found it."

Lynd knelt on the ground. "Can Sae match the times of death?"

Hana mimicked Lynd's posture, programming Sae. "About five days. Perhaps more. But the maggots might be confusing her. Sae can't analyze living things."

"Well, even just looking at the maggots helps. They're big enough and lived in a warm area. So I think she might be right."

Jino reappeared with Ellen a few other officers. Lynd asked them to store the evidence —the knives and the arm. She left the room, focused. Hana trailed her, still on edge because of her discovery. She caught a glimpse of Hefir, sitting on a chair, away from the bloodbath in the living-room. His face was so pale, as if all his blood had been drained from his face. Policemen mingled around while Jino gave him some water and patted his back. He left when he got a call, distancing himself from the noise to answer.

Hana joined him while Lynd gave some instructions to the officers who would transport the new evidence to the laboratories.

"Feeling better?"

"Somehow," he managed. His skin was still yellowish from his sudden nausea. "I just ridiculed myself and got traumatized on my first day. But at least I'm still alive. More alive than the guy over there." He nodded toward the corpse that was being covered with a white sheet and carried on a stretcher.

She shook her head. "You were just unlucky. It's normal to react that way the first time you see a corpse. And you didn't get to see a very… clean one. I threw up the first time I saw that much blood, too. On my friend. And then I fainted."

He gave a weak chuckle. "You had to be young, though."

"You can't compare people raised and trained with different standards." She tried to sound reassuring. "Trust me, you'll get better at this." She was aware of the macabre truth she was implying, but there was no use in denying it.

Lynd was done with her own tasks. She came toward them, taking a look at the specialists who had arrived a few minutes ago to comb through the apartment, hoping to find more… gross but meaningful pieces of evidence.

She bent toward Hefir and patted his shoulder. "I'm sorry you had to see this on your first day."

He shook his head. "It's fine, Chief." He looked away, intimidated.

Lynd straightened her back, running a hand through her hair. She turned to Hana. "The forensics will analyze the arm tomorrow to see if it belongs to the first body. We'll get our answer soon enough."

"I guess we will also know if the blood on the knives belongs to different victims."

Lynd exhaled. "Which would imply that are corpses we haven't even found."

"Lovely," Hana commented. "Do you think there's a particular reason for cutting the arm away?"

Lynd shrugged. "I don't know. I'm the confused one here. We have to catch him and question him. That's the only way."

"Chief!" the same officer who had found the car's description reappeared, frantic. She weaved through the officers until she reached them. "Ellen found something in the bathroom."

Lynd threw a look that seemed to say "please not another arm" and both she and Hana followed the officer. They found Ellen grimacing at wet pieces of paper she was trying to smooth on the floor.

"Ellen?" Lynd called.

Ellen rose her gaze. "Bills. For some reason, the murderer's bills were posted to his brother's address. Coal had tried to flush them in the toilets."

"You think the brother came here to call him out on that?"

"I'm not sure. But there is an address here. That means there's a chance Coal could be heading there as we speak. Possibly to take some money and leave, since there is nothing here."

Lynd jumped on her feet. "Where?"

"I can't see the whole address. Just the ZIP code, but it narrows the search to the Balia neighborhood."

"Okay, thanks Ellen." She swiveled. "Jino!" she called.

"We should take the car and hurry there," Hana said.

"Yeah. But first, I want Jino to send a few cars there and block the area, the time for us to reach the area. Are you coming with me?"

Hana frowned. "Of course I am. You really thought I'd let you go alone to catch some gross arm-kink murderer?"

Lynd squeezed her arm. There was something thankful sitting in her eyes. As if she were thanking her friend for going through this gruesome night with her. "Okay. Wait for me in the car then. I won't be long."

She left to talk to Jino.

Hana exited the apartment, rushing down the stairs as fast as she could. Past the thin doors and the eyes that peeked through the peepholes. When she was out of the building, she closed her coat on her chest, though the bite of cold was welcome. It washed away the stench from her nostrils and cleared her thoughts. She took a few deep breaths before opening the car's door, relishing in the freshness that enlivened her body.

She sank in the car's seat, tilting her head back. The silence was deafening after the intense activity in the apartment. It rang in her ears for a few seconds before dying out.

She opened her eyes, lost in the darkness in front of her. Dark as a pit. She passed a hand over her forehead, still catching up with everything that had happened. As if her head had reacted faster than her emotions, providing her enough reactivity to take action but not enough to… realize what had happened.

They were at a party.

They were enjoying themselves.

And someone had been killed.

Somehow, her night had gone from laughs and flirty texts and vodka shots to bloodstained knives and decaying arms hidden in mattresses and butchered corpses disarticulated on the floor.

And she was barely surprised. As if she were used to random 180-degree turns punctuating her life every once in a while. As if switching from parties to criminal investigations had become routine to her.

She sighed.

Her not-so-routine-like routine.

* * *

 **2:45 A.M.**

Five minutes later, Lynd was back. She sat next to Hana, waiting for Jino to sit at the rear.

"Ellen is gonna stay to conduct the search," she explained as she started the car. She looked behind and exited the parking slot. She drove the car back to set off on the bumping roads of the Pit, until she was out on the highway. She sped up to the speed limit, all the while corresponding with her associates.

"Did they manage to locate him?" Hana asked, flinching as the car abruptly bumped.

"Not yet, but they have circled the area." She changed the gear. "I'm gonna rev up," she warned.

Hana took a deep breath, gripping her seat.

And Lynd did rev up. Hell, she did rev up. Hana bit her lips. She felt for a moment like her heart was moving slower than the car, as though it couldn't follow the pace and struggled to keep beating through the speed. She glanced at Lynd's furrowed eyebrows, at the deep focus in her eyes and her steely grip on the steering wheel. In this moment, she knew that nothing would stop Lynd from catching Coal. There was not an ounce of hesitation on her face. Just pure, raw determination. Intense focus. And a broad control over the situation.

The talking device near the radio screeched. Lynd enabled it and a voice rose through the interferences.

"Chief, the car has been located," a voice said.

Lynd's eyes darted to the GPS. "Where?"

"On highway 57, near the Vitecob neighborhood. It is very likely that he will take the first exit to the Balia neighborhood." Hana typed the name of the exit on the GPS as the officer gave Lynd the last bits of information. "All the nearby exits are temporarily blocked, except this one."

"Good. I will tail him up until this point and force him to take this exit. Try to minimize the amount of passersby in the streets where we will stop him, we don't want more casualties."

"Roger."

The voice died. Lynd looked at the itinerary Hana had programmed on the GPS.

"We need to take the next exit," Hana managed. "There's a shortcut to reach the highway 57. It should take about five minutes; that's plenty of time to catch up with him."

"Okay." Lynd drove to the next exit. She checked the GPS as she roved through the streets, turning according to the directions. She was a dexterous driver and knew how to control her car better than anyone, even —or especially — when it was going fast. Speed was Lynd's element.

After a few more turns in a maze of streets, Lynd took the highway 57 and sped up again. Hana stayed focused, watching the small arrow that represented their car on the map get closer to the Balia exit. They passed by a few other cars that pulled aside when they heard the police siren, until there were no more cars. Just the road that stretched in front of them.

Then, it appeared.

A gray Volkswagen Polo, with a single lit headlamp.

"Here's the bastard," Lynd hissed, her eyebrows knitting in a deep frown. She tailed him until they were close enough to see the car plate distinctively enough.

Hana stared in front of them. The murderer's driving was irregular. Worry crept in her throat, a bad premonition forcing her eyes on the car.

For a reason.

"Watch out!" Hana yelled, grabbing the armrest as Lynd veered to the left, avoiding a heavy barrel tumbling toward them from Coal's trunk. Jino stumbled in the back, hitting the opposite door. If they hadn't veered, it would have crashed on them.

"What was that?!" Lynd yelled back, her eyes focused on the road, her hands tightening around the wheel with white-knuckled grip. Hana turned to look back at the barrel that had crashed on a railing while.

"I don't know," Jino answered. Hana heard him move at the back and curse under his breath. "We drove past it!"

"Blood," Hana said. She hadn't seen it well, but there was no mistaking in the blood that had splashed on the road when the barrel had hit the concrete.

Lynd's breath caught. "He fucking threw a corpse at us?"

"He fucking did."

Lynd gritted her teeth. "Jino, do you think you could shoot his tire from here? Hana, I need you to update the situation to the officers."

"Okay," Hana replied, reaching for the talking device while Jino opened his window to aim at the tires. She called for an officer.

"Chief?" the voice said.

"Ellen," Hana recognized the voice. "We've found Coal, we're tailing him on Highway 57. He launched a barrel at us, most likely a corpse, you need to send a unit to retrieve it."

"Okay! Are you alright?"

"Yeah, no one is injured."

 _Yet._

Lynd turned toward the exit, still following Coal. But he didn't slow down even though they weren't on the highway anymore.

He soon would, though. They reached the Grand Place where the police cars were waiting, blocking the way. Then, Jino shot a first bullet, a perfect aim on the right tire. Coal's car lowered to the ground where the tire had died, dragging the car across the road with a screeching sound. Jino shot another tire, and Coal lost control of his car. Lynd braked as his car slid in spirals of sparks and smoke. And it stopped. Still and dark in the clouds of dust.

They all rushed outside. They pointed their guns at the car, waiting for him to appear through the dust. But as Hana squeezed her eyes, as the first movements stirred through the smoke, she saw something that froze her blood.

A child.

"Lynd," she called, lowering her gun, her eyes riveted on the gleam of a blade. A blade near a child's neck. "He has a hostage."

That was _not_ part of the plan.

"DON'T MOVE!" Coal barked, frantically casting looking around him. The child gripped his arm, her face wet with tears and snot. Slowly, they lowered their guns, the officers on the other side mimicking them.

Hana swallowed hard, her throat tight, her temples pounding. She kept her eyes on the blade that glared back at her. She risked an eye away from it to stare at him. He looked wild, wide eyes and short gasps. His hand was trembling, and Hana was dead scared that it would slip and accidentally slit the little girl's throat.

"Put your guns down," he ordered. "NOW!" he brought the knife closer, grabbing the little girl by her hair and dragging her with him as he walked away from the wrecked car, ignoring her yelps and her sobs. They complied, discouraged by the threat.

Hana watched closely the knife, desperate for an opportunity for her to strike. She was fast enough to reach him with one powerful jump, but she didn't know if that was fast enough to save the little girl. If he saw her leap from her spot, he could panic and kill the child. She needed a good opportunity.

One second.

That was all she needed. First, jump. One powerful jump. Second, disarm him. Third, push him away from the child. She trusted Lynd to bring the little girl in a safe place once she was away from him.

One second was all she needed.

But not now. He was on edge, tripping at every sound, panting, a prey surrounded by a hoard of wild animals, ready to tear at anything and everything to save itself. So she waited. Counting her heartbeats. Watching the blade. Flexing her muscles. Tense with anticipation. Aware of each second pumped through her veins. And ready.

A whistle resonated at the far end of the street, a familiar, birdlike noise. Coal's focus lowered at the sound, startled.

Just for one second.

 _Now._

Like a bubble that exploded, the strange awareness ceased, replaced by a burning fever for action. She leaped at Coal with one strong jump, searing through the air. He hadn't turned back yet when she had grabbed his wrist, twisted it and caught the knife as it fell. He let out a strangled cry and let go of the little girl in his panic. She screamed and fell, covering her face with her hands while Coal tried to escape Hana's grip. But she kneeled him in the stomach and he fell backward, out of breath. She threw herself on top of him, straddling him, pinning him to the ground and pushing the knife away as he roared and kicked and wriggled on the ground, bursting with rage and fear and an inhuman strength. As if he were possessed, as if he had caught on fire. She tightened her grip on his wrist. Then, he lurched his head forward and bit her near the shoulder in a desperate attempt to free himself. She gasped through the pain when his teeth sank into her flesh, tearing herself away from his teeth, then knocking him out with a strong blow of her head on his. She caught her breath while he collapsed, finally immobile and unconscious.

"Hana!"

She turned to Lynd who was running toward her with a few officers. She winced. Blood was oozing from the wound, trickling down on her arm and her chest. Coal had bitten her hard enough to draw blood.

"I'm fine," she said as Lynd reached her. The officers handcuffed a still unconscious Coal, dragging him to the police car that would bring him to jail.

"You're really not!" She opened the first-aid kit she had brought with her and started tending to the wound. "You're gonna come with me at the hospital. They will know better how to help."

"Lynd, I'm fine. I've been through worse."

"That does not mean I should leave you like that." She pressed a large piece of cotton with alcohol on the wound.

"How is the child?" Hana asked, ignoring the scathing pain of alcohol on the fresh wound.

"Still crying, but she's not injured apart from minor scratches and bruises. Jino is trying to calm her down."

"What about her parents?"

"I think we've found them. They had alerted another unit that their daughter had disappeared. Coal most likely abducted her on his way to Balia. I think he had planned all along to have a hostage when he realized he was trapped."

"Sounds plausible. Are there any other casualty?"

Lynd applied mercurochrome on the injury. "None that we know of. But you were right about the barrel. He had squeezed a corpse inside. They've brought it to the forensics. Unidentifiable."

"Lovely," Hana mumbled.

Lynd applied Band-Aid, pushing Hana's disheveled hair away from her shoulder. "That whistle."

"I know. It's unsettling."

"Was it linked to Coal? Or was it a coincidence?"

"I can't tell. It's not early enough for birds to come out, so, I don't know. It could be anything." But the sound rang a bell to her. Like something she might have heard a long time ago.

"Megamshill is full of strange noises," Lynd started, smoothing the Band-Aid. "But I have a strange feeling. Do you feel it too?"

Hana was about to reply when a cry interrupted them. They darted their eyes to the commotion in the car.

"HE'S GOING TO KILL ME!" Coal shouted and shouted until Ellen neutralized him.

Hana stared at him, wide-eyed. Then, she swiveled to the far end of the street, where the whistling sound had been heard. Her instinct flared up. An odd premonition hovered with his words.

This unknown "he" that Coal was calling... For a moment, she thought she had felt his presence.

* * *

He stayed in the shadows, pressing his whistle in his palm, reassured by the squeak of his leather gloves around the wood artifact. He had hoped it would be enough to divert the man's attention, just enough for one of the officers to disarm him and save the little girl, and he had been right. One of them had been fast enough.

Slowly, he backed down, keeping a keen eye on the scene, watching the officers bring the man to the car. He tried to shrug off this heavy sense of failure, but it was hard.

This one had gone too far. He hadn't wanted him to go that far. It had never been his plan.

He quietly sighed.

It seemed like he said that a lot, right? Not his plan, not his wish, not his intention. And yet nothing seemed to happen as he wanted. Things always got out of control and he ruined everything and had to live with the guilt and the responsibility.

But what could he do? He had chosen this path. It hadn't even seemed like a choice to him. Much more an obligation than anything else. A necessity, even, as horrible as it was. But nothing he regretted.

"HE'S GOING TO KILL ME!"

He flinched, stepping back. Then, he risked an eye at the car where the man was being neutralized. The screams suddenly died down.

He frowned. Had he felt his presence? It should not be possible. The valets couldn't feel his presence. It had to be a coincidence, although a scary one. He could not afford to be found. He already knew the news would spread, once the first people fell, but that was nothing he could help.

He looked away. It was only then that he noticed her. The girl who had stopped the man, sitting on the ground while her friend tended her wounds. With green eyes and fair hair.

She was looking in his direction.

His breath caught. He silently disappeared, smoothly moving in the dark without a sound. Shushing his worries and his furious heartbeats. After all these years, he still felt the same dread. To be found, to be _stopped_. He shuddered, moving deeper in the neighborhood until he was out of it.

It did not help that she looked too familiar.

* * *

 **A/N** : Hehe. Can you tell I've watched too many crime shows as a child? Now that I think of it, I literally grew up reading horror books and watching crime shows, and later on took a liking to horror movies and games… Welp. I should have seen it coming.

But yeah! You saw that last scene? What did you think of it? I was so excited to include it. To be fair, I was quite excited to post this chapter too because ACTION WOOH. And also because you get to learn more about Killua and how he chose to become a crime hunter. I felt like it would fit him.

Also! What did you think about Hanallua this time? About Hana's fight? I've always wondered why people never bit their assailants when they are trapped, so, yeah, that's where the idea of having Coal bite her comes her. He's desperate so why not.

And what did you think about the chapter altogether? Any review is welcome. Or well, scratch that; any review serves as life energy for my exam-exhausted body. You guys revive me whenever you review me. You see the health bar in video games? Yeah, reviews are like medicine.

Anyway, See you soon! I think I'll update on Wednesday in two weeks (or well, ten days), unless you guys prefer updates on Fridays.

Bye!


	7. Shattered

**A/N** : Hellooooooo! (Yes, it's Friday in France, and I'm awake, so I'm updating *sunglasses emoji*.) It feels so goooood to update.

OH OH DID YOU GUYS SEE? **The story has a new cover!** I drew it a few days ago! You can click on the cover to see a slightly bigger version, or go on the story's Tumblr ( _poisonedamaryllis_ under the "art for the story" tag) to see the full version, orrrrr on my dA (or if you're an adventurer, check my tumblr)! I hope you like it as much as I enjoyed drawing it. (I forgot to warn you before, but sometimes I reblog sliiiightly nsfw pics on the story's blog… nothing too explicit but just in case, just to warn you… (I sinned I'm sorry))

As always, **thank you all so much for your support**! I love reading your reviews _so much_ , they give me life. Also, a big thank you to the lovely Guest who reviewed a few days ago! I couldn't thank you personally, so I'm doing it here! You made me so happy (you all do *hearts hearts love love*) (can you all tell I love you a lot or not yet? Okay here are more *heart heart love love loveeeee* to prove my love to you).

Anywayyy, on to the chapter! Hope you like it!

* * *

Chapter 6: **Shattered**

* * *

 **12:05 P.M.**

The bell rang.

She frowned in her sleep, wondering if the noise was real or not.

Then, it rang again.

She cracked an eye open, but immediately closed it because of the sun's ray that hit her. A bad aftertaste lingered in her mouth, both bitter and acrid, and she had a furred tongue. She pushed the blanket away, tried to sit up, but grimaced at a vivid pain on her trapezius. As she moved, she recognized the stretch of Band-Aid on her skin, and vaguely remembered she was injured.

Slowly, she rubbed her temples as a headache started pounding in her skull. She frowned and tried again to open her eyes, slightly worried about what she might find.

Her room came into sight. It was mostly dark save for some sunlight filtered through the curtains. She let out a sigh of relief. At least, she wasn't in someone else's bed.

She cleared her throat, swallowing again to try to feel her tongue. Now that she was less drowsy, she could tell the aftertaste in her mouth was alcohol. The night before came back to her, in dribs and drabs. The murder, the pursuit, the fight. The injury. But she had no idea how she had found her way back home.

She swung her feet over the bed and stood up, cracking her aching back. Then, her phone buzzed on her nightstand. She glanced at it, then at the calendar on her wall.

March 29th.

It was a Sunday.

It was noon.

Noon, on Sunday, March 29th.

She widened her eyes.

 _Killua._

She hurried out of her room, barely checking on her appearance, and only stopped when she reached the entrance door. She looked through the peephole.

It was indeed Killua. Staring at his phone. Then looking around him, as if to check if she would appear out of nowhere.

She stepped back. And opened the door.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry Killua, I overslept and I had completely forgotten about everything and I'm not sure what happened but I guess I forgot to set up my alarm and I'm so sorry —"

"Wow, wow, calm down," he stopped her. "It's fine. Don't panic."

"No, it's not fine! I never oversleep, I don't know why today of all days, and I swear I was looking forward to it, it's not an unconscious act of disinterest, I swear and I'm genuine and I'm so sorry…"

He blinked. "I know. Stop worrying, it's fine. Are you still up for it?"

"Yes! Of course I am, let me just get prepared and… And we go eat that tiramisu! But first come in," she invited him in. "I need to get prepared."

He followed her inside as she quickly shut the door closed and opened the curtains in the living room.

"I'm so sorry you have to see me like this, I look like I spent a night in the sewers," she said when she was done, taking a glance at the mirror to further her words. The golden hue of her skin seemed too dull, and she had deep dark circles under her eyes. Her lips looked more swollen and chapped than lush and glossy. And well, what was better than a set of bloodshot eyes and Band-Aid on her trapezius to perfect the vengeful ghost look?

But he just stared at her shoulder. "You're injured," he noted. "What happened to you?"

She reached for the Band-Aid. "A sort of improvised mission, I guess."

"Huh. And how did you get that?"

"Got bitten. By the guy I was chasing."

He frowned. "What kind of mission was that? Resident Evil?"

"Better not be! It was yesterday. Or well, technically, today. I was chasing the murderer everybody's been talking about. For my friend."

"Ah, it was you. I saw it on the news, when the police chief was being questioned by the journalists."

"That would be my friend, Lynd."

"You should schedule some clinical examination. To check you didn't catch anything nasty."

"Lynd already scheduled one for me. I'll go to the hospital this afternoon."

"Good." He crossed his arms. "And you expected yourself to jump out of your bed looking like a Disney princess after that."

"No, but I could have spared you the whole Samara Morgan makeover," she argued. "Look at me, I could easily pass off as someone who spent twenty years inside a well." She gestured at herself.

He did as she said, following her movements. Raking her from head to toe with a suggestive smirk. "I'm not complaining."

It was only then that she realized she was wearing skimpy pajamas, with only a light shawl to cover her hardly coverable braless-ness, and short shorts that barely stretched below her butt.

She looked away. Her cheeks flamed up; warmth spread in her whole body. She was suddenly so conscious of his gaze on her. Of how intense it was, as though it had touched her.

"Oh. Well. At least you have something pleasant to look at," she joked.

"There's also the mirror."

"Pft." She took a deep breath. "Okay. I'll quickly put something on; you can wait here. You can do whatever you want, as long as you're not bored."

His eyes lit up. "Can I see the marbles?"

She frowned. Marbles? She looked around her living room until she saw her huge transparent jar filled with marbles sitting on a shelf. "Yes, of course."

"Yay."

Her lips quirked up in a smile. "Did you just say "yay"?" she asked, ignoring the stubborn butterflies that collided in her stomach.

"No. You misheard. Must be the alcohol playing tricks to you," he said without looking at her. But the light in his eyes betrayed him. Which added to the whole irresistible package.

"Have fun, then."

She went to her room. When she closed the door, she leaned against it and sighed. She took the bottle of water on her nightstand and drank a bit —just enough to avoid any further nausea. How she was able to stand after everything that had happened the night before was beyond her own understanding.

She opened her closet and picked a bright floral corset dress with transparent black tights and black heels. While she searched for a blazer, she heard Killua hum a familiar song and marbles roll together in a glass jar. She hummed along, quietly.

Glimpses of his softness like these really got to her. His smiles, his laughs, his adorable moments. His small ways to show concern or compassion. His subtle demonstrations of affection —a candy here, a compliment there — almost always followed by flashes of shyness. He wasn't demonstrative as she was, and it fascinated her. He was able to show so much by saying so little.

She glanced at the door. He had started humming a different song, a song she didn't know. She remembered hearing it the last time he had come to her place. She listened, absent-mindedly making her bed. She could feel herself grow weak for him, but in the best way. Butterflies, fireworks, and giddiness had become very stubborn side-effects to his company.

It was both familiar and confusing.

After she finished with the bathroom, she slipped inside her dress, adjusted her tights, and went for the vanity. Foundation, discrete eyeshadow and eyeliner, mascara and a vibrant, glossy peach pink lipstick. She brushed her hair, sprayed perfume on her, checked in the mirror for any trace of lipstick on her teeth, and wore her heels.

There she was. Bright and colorful and fresh. Barely recognizable.

She grabbed her bag and her blazer after checking she had everything.

"Someone is a fan of Cat's eyes," Killua said when she arrived in the living-room, still peering in the jar. He was sitting on the sofa, with the jar on his lap, so focused in the marbles he hadn't looked at her just yet.

"They were so common, but they were my favorites."

He took a Stardust and examined it. "I love the Firecracker. And the Galaxies." He finally took a look at her. His gaze lingered ever so slightly on her exposed cleavage, her generous chest flattered by the bright flowers and the corset. Then, he looked at her. And he smiled. Just like that. Unaware of what that sight did to her. "That's quite a transformation."

She scrunched her nose, grinning. It almost felt surreal to blush and grin and wear floral dresses to go out with a friend, after finding decaying arms and bloody corpses just a few hours earlier. Her life truly was amazing.

"Thanks," she said. Only then she really noticed he was wearing a deep red button-up shirt. The color suited him so well, a rich contrast against his pale skin. She wanted to dip her hands in that color. "You look really good, too. With that shirt." She looked him in the eye. Those ice blue eyes of his. "Makes your eyes stand out."

He arched his eyebrows, a charming smile hanging on his lips. "Thank you." He put the jar back on the shelves. "So, ready to eat that tiramisu?"

"Ready."

* * *

The weather was light compared to the previous night's biting cold. They walked along the street, chatting about the various Easter decorations set up on bakeries and candy shop windows. The tiny nests with their fake fluffy chicks, the vibrant patterns on the chocolate eggs, the colorful ribbons and the baskets full of candies aligned on the windows.

It turned out Killua really liked Easter. Not because of religious reasons, but because bakers and confectioners outdid themselves each year with their sweet delicacies, chocolate eggs, animal-shaped candies, and all the other delicious candies. There were still two weeks before Easter, but all the shopkeepers were ready.

They reached the restaurant within a few minutes. An authentic Italian restaurant. The entrance was fairly simple though classy, with a grand door guarded by a man in a suit. He greeted them with a smile and complimented "the lady" before opening the door. They greeted him back, then Killua motioned her to go in before him. His hand gently brushed the small of her back to lead her inside, and she felt a thousand sparks where his hand had touched her, dizzy with the soft pressure of his fingertips. She wanted it to linger but he removed it as soon as a waiter welcomed them.

He led them to a table for two, upstairs, at the back of the restaurant, near the window that gave sight to the street. There were a lot of people, but their spot was calm. When they were seated, he brought them two leather-bound menus. They ordered shortly after that, and she noticed Killua cast an amused glance at her when she butchered her dish's pronunciation.

When the waiter was gone, Killua shifted on his seat to lean toward her, his forearms on the table. "So, tell me about you."

"About me? There's a lot of cool stuff to know about me, be more specific."

He shrugged. "I don't know. Say something random."

"Hmm." She pondered his question. "My birthday is on August 8th. I'm a Leo. I was born at 4 A.M. and I was completely bald. My first word was "boob"—" He smiled. "— I used to try to catch caterpillars to eat them when I was a toddler —but my mom always stopped me." She snickered when he grimaced.

"I said random, not disgusting."

"You're so weak. I used to be that kid who liked to play in the mud."

"Ew."

"That was also my grandma's reaction most of the time. _"Hana! You're a lady, you should not play in the mud!"_ and so on."

"I bet she was worried about the state of your new dress, too."

"More like the state of her house," she laughed. "I was so annoying. I climbed every climbable surface and jumped and kicked and fought the chairs, my greatest enemies, with my Super Weapon — usually my mom's deodorant. I pretended I was an adventurer and I ran through the corridors with my blanket-cape and woke up my parents every Sunday morning. I drove everyone crazy."

He chuckled, and her stomach did acrobatics at the sound. "You were just being a kid."

"Fair enough. What about you? Did you have… kids moments?"

He snorted. "I love how you always give that little pause before mentioning my past. _"So, were you locked up in a dungeon and forced to feed on rodents or…?"_ and the like."

"I don't know, I'm just asking," she replied, a bit worried that she had offended him.

But he just rolled eyes while smiling, in that playful way of his, and she relaxed. "I did do some kid things. The whole the-floor-is-lava, for example." He paused. "Once, it was above a river with a deadly current."

"Of course."

"I had toys too. My favorites were the dinosaur and the big car. They always fought. For some reason."

"Aww. Wait, where is the scary part? The dinosaur was real?"

"No, not those. But I did have a big, big dog."

"Big as in?"

"As in, T-rex-sized."

She chortled. "T-rex sized puppy. Now that's my kind of thing."

He was looking at her with intent eyes, though she wasn't sure why.

Their dishes arrived quickly. They chatted from time to time while they ate, mostly about Megamshill. She told him about some important basketball matches her grandmother had told her about, the ones that took place in their court before it was abandoned. He listened to her, genuinely interested. It was fairly amazing to know who had walked on their court before them.

When they were done, the waiter took away their plates and gave them the dessert menus, but they told him they didn't need it and ordered their tiramisus.

Killua smiled. "Soon."

"Soon, soon. I will see the light. I never thought I'd be that excited to eat a tiramisu. It better be good."

"Trust me, it is." He shifted again, and she knew he would ask her a question about her at this moment. "Okay, part two."

"Of?"

"Of getting to know you."

She tilted her head. "Go ahead."

"About the hunter exam. You dropped out of school to take it?"

"Yeah, when I was thirteen. I trained with my mother and my teacher, and then took the exam."

"Did you always know you wanted to be a hunter?"

She blinked. She hadn't expected this question. "Sort of. Or well, now I know that's what I wanted. At the time, I was very doubtful. I only knew what I didn't want, and my parents argued a lot about what was best for me, so I didn't dare speak up for it."

"What do you mean?"

"My father wanted me to wait until I finished school. My mother thought I was better off turning to the Hunter world sooner."

"And you agreed with her, I suppose."

"I did, but I didn't want to disappoint my father," she explained. "Education is extremely important to him —and I agree with him on that. But I think he couldn't understand at the time that education wasn't my problem; school was. I wasn't made for school and he didn't see it for a long time. He was also worried I would lose myself in the Hunter world, that in the end I would realize I didn't like it when it was too late to continue school. And well, he was also scared for my safety." And in that sense, he hadn't been wrong, but she had no regrets.

He narrowed his eyes. "So you and school are not a good combination."

"At all. In kindergarten and primary school, I was too restless and got bored too easily, and I ended up bothering the other kids. I got detention all the time because I talked and disrupted the class with jokes, but I couldn't help. I was a troublesome kid," she sighed. "I liked to make a fool of myself to make the other kids laugh."

"For some reason, that suits you."

"That's Baby Hana for you. And then middle school came. God. I stayed only a year but I don't have a very nice memory of it." He motioned her to keep going. "Kids in middle school are ruthless, and the education system didn't suit me. I felt like I didn't fit in." She paused. "Physically too. I was already 5'6'' in sixth grade, and pretty skinny and lanky. Boys called me spaghetti and made fun of me —which is downright cruel because it's not like I could control my growth spurt. My confidence plummeted, on top of feeling like I didn't belong in a classroom. It sucked."

"It's a good thing your father let you take the exam, then. You're in your element."

"I am. I feel like differences are not tolerated in school, let it because of height or weight or sexuality or gender expression, or whatever really. The Hunter community is a lot more accepting when it comes to things like that. There are so many different profiles."

"It's a sort of _"come as you are"_ community. You can express your identity however you want; it doesn't matter to them. Skills, technique and "honor" are more crucial."

"Yeah."

He tilted his head. "You said the education system didn't suit you, too. Why's that?"

She fought a smile. She couldn't pretend his curiosity about her and her life didn't make her giddy. "I need to be constantly stimulated. I get restless when I'm not busy and I felt like in school my potential wasn't fully exploited and it bored me to hell. I wasn't even bad, actually. I was really good at math and sciences, and sports, but I… couldn't sit still."

"A need for action?"

"I don't know. I think I'm too versatile, I need to… do all kinds of things. At once. I couldn't focus on just one thing, or else I felt like I was wasting my time. It didn't help much that I had no artistic or musical talent and couldn't join any club to spend all that energy."

"Crime hunting is made for you then. Couldn't be more versatile."

She nodded. And then, a bit more timidly: "Still, I think I kind of want to… get an education?"

He frowned. "You want to go back to school?" he incredulously asked. "College?"

"No, never. Too time-consuming. But…" She stopped. She hadn't told a lot of people about this small project of hers. Only her closest friends and her parents. She glanced at Killua, saw that he was waiting, and got a bit nervous. "I'm up-to-date with the program. My best friend, Thomas… He and his sister gave me all their notes, so I could study in my free time. I've been doing that for three years."

He stayed silent for a moment, which made her even more anxious. She wondered if he thought it was silly. "Wow." She felt her tension ease down. He was smiling. Not a small smile, not a smirk. No. A real, warm smile. _His_ smile. "That's pretty cool."

She beamed at him. She had no idea how he could make her that happy with such simple words. "Thank you." She didn't know what to say. "Anyway. I talked so much about myself."

"I don't mind. I had asked, in the first place."

"Well, I want to know about you, too."

"Know what?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I suppose you didn't go to school?"

"Obviously not."

"But did your… parents give you an education? I mean, other than slicing throats."

He cast an amused look at her. She was aware she had done the pause he had mentioned earlier. "Well, first off, I never slit throats when I was still at it; too messy," he corrected.

She rolled eyes. "I don't want to discuss Assassination Theory."

"Too bad. But anyway. There was a butler who took care of my education." His feature softened, and something gentle flashed in his eyes. "His name is Gotoh. Gotoh taught me how to read, write and count. He made sure I had proper tutors to teach me History, Geography, and a few languages. Spanish and French among others."

"Yeah, no big deal. You're fluent in three languages. Nothing much."

"Not fluent. I just… know enough," he mused.

"Enough? As in? I suppose you didn't debate with the targets before killing them, so why?"

"Blackmailing."

"Oh. Of course. What else?"

"Biology, anatomy. For reasons I don't need to express."

"Nothing funky," she said.

He scratched his cheek. "My mother did insist on teaching me a few frivolous things —in the eyes of my father."

"Such as?"

"Piano. Waltz. Culinary arts. She also tried to teach me how to draw, but that didn't work."

She giggled. "Aww. Culinary arts."

"I know."

"She sounds… artistic."

He sighed. "My mother isn't exactly balanced."

She wondered if she was stepping on a forbidden ground. He didn't look bothered, but she knew better than anyone that looks and feelings didn't always match.

Luckily, the waiter interrupted them with the tiramisus. She watched Killua as the waiter left again, studying his expression. He looked calm enough.

"You shouldn't be looking at me," he said as he took his spoon. Then, he rose amused eyes at her. "You're going to eat a tiramisu for the first time in your life. You should be looking at _that_."

She grinned and stared at the tiramisu. She had no idea what it tasted like, but it looked delicious. She dug inside. And ate. "God. Where were you all my life," she said when she had swallowed. She couldn't get over how tasty it was. The coffee, the mascarpone, the sweet and spongey layers wet with sweet coffee… A masterpiece.

"See? This is what you've been missing out."

"Never again. I could eat tiramisus for the rest of my life." She took another bite, even better than the first one. "I want to make one. Or, or… tiramisu cupcakes. How amazing would that be?"

"Finish this one first, before making plans on how to clone it."

They finished eating with more jokes and anecdotes, as always when they were together. When he was done, Killua excused himself to go to the restroom while she checked her phone. Before Killua came back, the waiter removed the plates from the table. She intercepted him before he left.

"Excuse me, but could I have the check before he comes back?" She asked as she fumbled in her bag to find her credit card, until she gave up and started piling the items on the table.

He smiled. "I'm afraid he was faster."

She widened her eyes. So the restroom was a decoy? He had known that she would want to pay?

Killua came back at this moment. She gaped at him. "You did _not_."

He wore a charming, innocent expression. "Did not what?"

"I wanted to pay!"

"I'm the one who invited you to begin with. Might as well finish the job."

She gently chided him as they prepared to leave. She was still putting back her items in her bag when her phone rang. "Oh, wait, can I quickly take this one?" she asked when she saw it was Lynd.

"Of course."

She answered. "Lynd?" she said as she distanced herself from the table, toward the restrooms that were more isolated.

Lynd's heels resonated through the phone as the hubbub around her quieted down. Hana frowned, an odd premonition creeping up her throat. "Hana, you need to come," Lynd said when she had found a silent spot. "We've been called for a suicide. It corresponds to the description you wanted."

Slowly, realization dawned upon her. "The puncture points?"

"Yes." Lynd hesitated. "Hana, the Whisper is really back."

* * *

Everything was suddenly silent.

The voices died down. The laughs stopped. The world stilled.

A few hours sooner, Hana had mused about the constant ups and downs in her life. The random 180-degree turns that tossed her between seemingly normal situations and not-so-normal-ish moments. Between floral dresses and bloodstained Band-Aid. Between parties and car chases. Between sweet, happy moments like this one, to the darkest truths to accept.

She took a deep breath. Her heart was pounding in her chest. She thought for a moment it had sunk, too heavy to be carried anymore, but it was there. Wild and furious, roaring in the hollow of her ribcage, just like she should be.

"I'm here in a minute," she managed, surprised by how collected she sounded when her world had shattered inside.

She walked back to her table, unsure of how her body reacted. It wasn't her piloting it. It had to be someone else, someone who knew what to do. Someone who didn't want to collapse and hide. Someone who wasn't panicking.

Someone who wasn't her.

She mechanically took her bag. "I have to go," she said. "I'm sorry Killua."

"Hana? What's wrong?"

She heard some concern in his voice, but it seemed too far away. Only then, she realized her hands were trembling when she hurried to shove her stuff back in her bag. "Something happened. It's urgent."

"Do you need me to bring you there?" he said. She felt as though she hadn't registered everything. Her mind was a mess trying to articulate thoughts.

"No, I'm fine," she assured, carried her bag on her shoulder and turned around, ignoring the rattling sound that followed. "I'm sorry," she said one last time and rushed outside, past the curious customers and the busy waitresses.

Once she was out, she called a taxi.

She wasn't sure she could trust her legs to carry her all the way.

* * *

He watched her go, still in shock after this sudden twist. Just a minute ago, she had been laughing and joking, but right after that phone call, she seemed an entirely different person. A pale and tormented version of herself who barely grasped his presence. He swallowed the lump in his throat. Just what had happened?

He stood up, casting a cold look at a man who tried to make a tasteless joke of the situation. The man stopped right in his track; his table fell silent. Not even a whisper, or a curious glance in Killua's direction. One look had sufficed.

Killua gathered his belonging and left a tip on the table. As he walked past the table, he noticed a shiny keychain under Hana's chair. He picked it up. She had dropped her keys. He typed a quick message to her, to tell her he had her keys and she could drop by to retrieve them, and shoved them in his pocket. He wanted to reassure her about her keys, but he also needed to make sure he would see her that night and check she was alright.

There was no doubt that after such distress, she would need someone to talk to.

* * *

 **3:20 P.M.**

The body lay before her, the blanket that had been covering it folded to the hips. A young woman in her twenties. She had slit her wrists.

Hana took a deep breath, her eyes riveted on the girl's chest. Right below her clavicles, in the middle of her chest, three distinct puncture points. A grim reminder of the Whisper's curse.

Lynd squeezed her shoulder. "Take some photos," she said, her voice tainted with worry. "For your case."

Hana gave a weak nod, mechanically reaching for the camera inside her bag. She knew Lynd was still staring at her, but she felt too disconnected from reality to process what was happening. As if those legs that moved forward weren't hers. As if those fingers that clicked on the camera weren't hers. As if those eyes that found the best angle to collect the pictures weren't hers. As if she weren't here, in a room where someone had just succumbed to the Whisper's torture.

"How did it happen?" she heard herself ask Lynd, who hadn't moved and was still watching her. With concern, Hana realized.

"A neighbor called us. He heard cries and crashing furniture. We found her in the bathroom. She probably had a fit before taking her own life."

"Hmm." She looked at the photo, vaguely remembering that it was the first time she saw the puncture points for real. She hadn't gotten any on her chest, since she had survived. The only other victim she had seen was Feri. Needless to say, there were no puncture points to look for on Feri. There wasn't a chest to pierce through, to begin with.

A strangled cry coming from the entrance door alerted them. A woman was standing at the door's threshold, her hand clasped over her mouth, her eyes wide in horror. She wobbled on her legs until Jino and another officer caught her. She babbled something unintelligible, and the first tears started streaming down her face. She tottered toward the corpse, kneeling next to it and brushing the girl's cheek with shaky fingers.

 _The mother_ , Hana guessed. Barely surprised by her own apathy.

But then, the wails came. Long, painful wails. The wails of a mother who had just lost her child. She cupped her daughter's face and called and called her name, gasping, weeping. She brushed her hair and cried on her forehead and shook her shoulders. The whole room had fallen silent apart from the mother.

Hana felt her chest tighten at the sight, almost with relief. So she _was_ able to feel something. She bit her lip, suddenly too aware of the lump in her throat and the weight in her chest. She had been shaken awake by the mother's cries, and each whimper seared through her and tore her apart. She watched her call her daughter and all her repressed emotions flooded her, all at once. Suffocating her with grief.

There was nothing as painful as watching a mother cry her dead child.

She looked away, forced herself to swallow the lump and walk away while Lynd took care of the mother. But the woman's sobs followed her, past the walls and the doors. An echo to a memory she wished she could forget. To another mother crying another dead child, at another time and another place. Screaming and weeping, barely aware of the blood all over her as she hugged her son's bloody, broken figure on the stretcher that took him away. Feri's mother.

Her stomach churned at the thought. For a moment, it felt as though she had been transported to that time again. Lying on the floor, her body a giant wound, barely seeing the faces that hovered above her. Doctors trying to catch her attention during her rare moment of consciousness. Allan, yelling on the phone some things she couldn't decipher. Her panicking father shouting orders at the doctors with a wobbling voice. Her mother's blue eyes, the only color she clearly saw in this confused maze of blurry pictures. And the cries near Feri's stretcher. Feri's mother, babbling some words she would never forget.

"Why did he have to die! Why not her!"

Then, she had blacked out.

 _Why not_ _her_ _!_

She shuddered. The lump was back in her throat, nearly choking her. She hurried to the balcony to take a deep breath, fleeing from the scene, although she was well aware the words wouldn't leave her. Ever. They were stamped on her, branded on her like a punishment. A weight she would forever carry. A burden tightly fastened on her back, snickering, reminding her every once in a while that she had survived when they had all died, prodding her with insidious questions.

 _It's true, why not_ _you_ _? What do you have that they don't? What makes you more worthy to live than them?_

She leaned against the wall, brushing the fabric on her stomach, where her scar crossed her abs. A stern reminder of her failure, and yet she was alive. All too aware of her breathing, her heartbeats, her thoughts that warred in her head. Of the heat in her body and the blood in her veins, the prickling sensation in her fingertips and the goosebumps on her bare arms. Of the life that sparked in her, while a young girl was lying in the room next to her, cold and dead. While Maes and Feri rested in their graves. While so many people had fallen and so many mothers had cried. Guilt pounded in her chest, constricting and savage.

Did she deserve it? Did she deserve those breaths when so many had lost theirs?

 _Why her?_

"Hana?"

She rose tired eyes toward Lynd. "I'm fine."

Lynd glanced at the scene behind her, then joined Hana, mimicking her posture. "I've called the HCDS. They will send hunters to retrieve the corpse and examine it."

"Hmm." She sighed. "They will surely re-open the case after that."

Lynd twirled a strand of hair around her finger. "Are you going to take the case?"

"No," she answered. "Not this time." She stood straight to go back inside.

There was a time when she had been willing to gamble with her life and her friend's life. When she had let her ambitions roar louder than her reason. When she had been too arrogant, too voracious, too reckless.

There was a time when she had stared into the void.

 _Not this time._

* * *

 **4:28 P.M.**

Questioning the mother hadn't been an easy task for Hana. Both because the mother was hardly cooperative —not that she could be blamed; she had just lost her daughter — and because Hana's brain was hardly cooperative —she was still in a sort of trance, as if what was happening wasn't or couldn't be real. The result was a mess of aloof questions and chopped answers — the mother hadn't stopped crying.

But one thing was sure: the pattern was the same. No one had seen it coming. The shock of that girl's death had rippled through her relatives with a brutal force.

This was the Maes Maple case all over again.

Hana thanked the woman, patting her back in an awkward attempt at being considerate in spite of her own numbness. She was about to leave when Jino intercepted her, a glass of water for the mother in his hand.

"Hana?" he called. She turned, still holding her notepad, and gave him a quizzical look. "Um, Lynd asks you to come." He paused. "Do you want a glass of water, too?"

She shook her head. "No, thanks, Jino. I'm fine."

He remained silent, then nodded. "Okay. Um. Tell me if you change your mind."

She searched for Lynd, wondering how awful she looked for even Jino, who didn't know her that well, to notice she was a mess. She found Lynd near the balcony, on the phone. When she saw Hana, she gestured for her to wait, before hanging up.

"I got more info. Apparently, the HCDS had already contacted some hunters a while ago to start investigating."

"How come?" Hana asked, her curiosity unwittingly piqued.

"There have been more suicides we haven't been aware of. The HCDS had been alerted two months ago when some occurred in Comershill."

"Comershill is barely an hour from here," Hana noted.

"Yep. Which means the Whisper stayed some time there."

"Will they try to retrace his movements?"

"I don't know. I think they might."

Hana looked away, at Jino who was talking to the mother. She relaxed as she drank the water he had brought. Whatever he was telling her was working. "Do you know who is going to take the case?" Hana risked, dreading the answer and dreading her curiosity even more.

"I don't know; they haven't told me." Lynd squeezed Hana's shoulder. "But they might try to convince you to take it."

Hana sighed. A deep, long sigh. "I know."

"Just refuse."

"I will," Hana assured, even though uncertainty was already clawing its way in her confidence. It wasn't so much about whether she would take the case or not —she wouldn't, not ever. It was more about whether her self-esteem and her reputation could take more blows.

She had needed three years to rebuild her credibility, her career, her reputation, her confidence… Hell, _herself_ , and she was far from being done. And yet… This was happening. A stone dropped on the glass house. And she was watching it crack, slowly. Helplessly so. A dumb spectator that wasn't quite aware of how grave the situation was. Just when she finally felt like she had a grasp on her life, she had to watch her efforts crumble.

Someone knocked on the door, and Lynd left to see who had arrived. Hana slumped against the wall, forcing her eyes on the notes she had taken, but not really seeing them. Her mind was stuck on these thoughts, rewinding them each time until she was swamped with them. And yet, she still couldn't realize. As if repeating them had made them lose their meaning, rather than making them real. All that was left was the confusion. What would she do from here? What _could_ she do? How involved would she be? She knew nothing. Nothing at all. It was way too blurry and unsure. The only thing she was sure of was that starting from here, it could only get worse. That was just her luck.

And she had no idea how right she was.

"Miss Terra, thank you for your hard work. It's a pity we have to meet back in those circumstances," the newcomer greeted Lynd.

A wave of sudden awareness washed through Hana. That voice… She knew it. She had heard it thousands of times. Praising her efforts, warning her against her shortcomings, encouraging her growth, dictating rules and strategies and principles… She darted her eyes to the corridor Lynd had just walked in, praying all the gods for her impression to be wrong. She didn't need to see _him_ at this moment, of all people. Not in this state or in this place or in this damn situation.

But the gods had given up on her since long.

Allan Fox walked in next to Lynd.

 _Fuck._

He immediately saw her, and slightly widened his eyes. There was surprise and… and an uncanny and incongruous relief on his face. She straightened her back, swallowing hard. Discretely taking a deep breath to brace herself for a discussion she wasn't ready to have.

Allan listened to Lynd for a moment, focused on the pale corpse of the young girl. Hana took this opportunity to slip away in the balcony, where she knew he would join her later on, and counted the seconds to the moment she would have to face him.

He did come, half an hour later.

"Miss Torana," he greeted her, sliding the door closed behind him.

"Mr. Fox."

"A pleasure to see you again."

"I feel the same," she lied.

He smiled, that same smile he always showed when he was about to gently chide her. "We did talk about fake courtesy before, didn't we?"

She sighed. "I am absolutely not pleased to see you again," she corrected.

"I prefer that."

She glanced at him, furtively so, just long enough to make sure he wasn't offended. But he wasn't. What was on his face had nothing to do with offense or hurt or even irritation. He simply looked... Nostalgic. And relieved.

She looked away. They remained silent for a few minutes. Him looking at the horizon, her at her feet.

"So he's back," he broke the silence. Dropped the one truth she needed to remember.

She shuddered. "He is."

"I suppose you will not get involved, this time."

"You supposed right."

He smiled, again. "That is something I often said."

"It rubbed off on me."

He turned to her. "It's been a long time. I'm not quite sure I'm up-to-date with your career."

"I'm a freelance," she refreshed. "And we both know you are up-to-date with my career."

"I've heard a lot about you."

She scoffed. "Did you manage to sort out the rumors from the truth?"

"I know you enough to spot a grotesque rumor. Anyway," Fox changed the subject. "I believe Miss Terra has given you updates about the Whisper."

"She has," she said cautiously. She had been reviewing potential questions she had expected him to ask — " _Why did you leave so suddenly?_ " and " _Why did you never answer my e-mails and my phonecalls?_ " and " _Why did you shut me out?_ " and the like. But he wasn't asking anything. Which made her twice as wary, because she knew Allan disliked small talk and unnecessary conversations. He had something in mind.

"There have been new reports about him," he said. She looked at him, narrowed her eyes. "Miss Terra probably told you about Comershill."

"She did."

"Our agents are currently working on that. To trace back his movements and possibly find where he is from. Or perhaps, what he wants."

She listened, quietly. To her own dismay, with interest. She was aware he was doing this on purpose to egg her on the case, but she couldn't help listening. "And?"

"So far, they managed to trace him back to Dlain. Which is quite a journey, considering Dlain is five hours from here by car. I believe the search might be slower starting from there. His presence in Dlain was estimated to five months ago. Of course, the priority is to stop the Whisper, so I believe the best option would be to gather as many good hunters as possible."

She caught his subtle invitation but showed no sign of it. "A team?"

"Most likely. We will surely have to team up with blacklist hunters. Quite a few hunters have already requested to work with us, and we're still going through their applications. Most of them are solely attracted by the notoriety of the Whisper."

"Most of them stand no chance," she said.

"I believe so as well. We try to be careful. Finding the Whisper isn't the hard part."

"Surviving is," she finished.

"Exactly. Which is why we need a better understanding of how his ability works."

She shot him a hard look. "I'm not cooperating."

He didn't reply; he simply smiled instead. With understanding. "I don't expect you to."

She crossed her arms. "Yet, there is something you're not saying."

"That is correct."

"A request," she guessed.

"Correct, too."

"That I will refuse."

He sighed. "Most likely correct as well." He straightened his back. "But I shall try nonetheless." She gestured him to go ahead. "As you must be aware of, very few hunters are willing to throw themselves into the abyss without any hint."

"I suppose I'm the hint."

"You supposed right. Quite a few of them are looking for the sole survivor with the hopes of questioning them —and possibly pair up with them."

She shifted. "Mr. Fox, I'm not meeting anyone. And I have no intention of being used as a shield."

"I'm aware. Most of them are not trustworthy."

She narrowed her eyes. "Except for one."

"Yes. A student of mine, who knows about you personally."

She cringed at the word "student", seized by an irrational jealousy. She was the one who had chosen to leave, and yet, she couldn't shake off that unreasonable anger. After all, he _had_ replaced her, in the end.

"Who?" She asked, then mentally scolded herself for giving in to the curiosity and the jealousy instead of standing her ground.

"Bee Onela."

The name hit her in the chest. "Feri's sister," she said, more to herself than to him.

"She decided to take the case for reasons I don't need to explain. She would like to meet you to discuss his ability and your discoveries. She doesn't expect you to pair up with her—"

"No," she cut in. A bit louder than she had wanted to. She could feel her mask slip to reveal the anxious mess she was, and desperately clung to it. Allan could read her like a book but she could at least preserve her dignity by pretending to be composed.

"I thought so. I told her so," he said.

She felt her chest tighten. He had lost faith in her so much he hadn't given her a chance. Another irrational thought to brew in her emotionally exhausted mind. She thought of apologizing, but avoided his eyes instead, torn between a myriad of emotions. Anger, shame, guilt, frustration. And above all, the melancholy. For the times when she trained with Allan and the Whisper wasn't a tumor in the back of her mind. For the times when she wasn't a coward.

"Then why are you telling me this?" she snapped.

He watched her with no surprise. "You have the right to know."

"I also have the right to _not_ know."

"Are you sure? That you don't want to know anything about how the case goes?"

"I'm sure," she repeated, as though to convince herself.

His smile was gone. "Are you going to avoid it like you avoided the HCDS? Like you avoided _me_?"

A slap. That was how his words felt like. She was tempted to deny it, but he was right. He always was.

He exhaled, and his tone was softer when he said his next words. "You are not alone in this failure. As your mentor, I should have known. I should have stopped you. And yet I didn't. It was my mistake as much as it was yours. It was _my_ failure."

"Mr. Fox, the responsibility is entirely mine. You did not lose a friend to your own ambitions."

"I lost _two_ students to my own mistakes."

She shook her head. "You didn't lose me. I left. It wasn't your fault."

"You are so stubborn," he said. "How many times have I told you this?"

"I'm also right." She stood straight, ready to go back in and end this conversation.

"Hana," he called, and she froze. Her heart felt swollen. "You're always welcome at the HCDS. At least with me. I was and still am your teacher, and if you change your mind, you know my office is always open to you."

She didn't reply.

* * *

 **A/N:** Lalala. Yes, I know, I'm kinda cruel. My bestie low key wants to smack me for what I'm doing (gonna do?) to Hana. But yeah.

I swear, while I wrote this chapter, I was low key inspired by that moment when you thinkkkk you've failed an exam, but you're not sure, but you try not to get your hopes too high, but still there's this tiny hope that perhaps you passed, and then you see your grade and you get the confirmation that you failed and you head home and you cry because fuck college. (Do I make sense?)

But yeah, more seriously, I thought it was pretty interesting to write. I've experienced a few moments like that (though nothing as serious as a serial killer who personally harmed me coming back to ruin my life) and they're pretty… nasty. The moments when something you've refused to admit for a long time is confirmed and the world sort of shatters, and you stare at the paper, or the screen, or the person in front of you in complete and utter shock, and you can sort of feel the energy draining out of you and anger shaking in your body. Whether that's an exam you've failed, or someone you love betraying you, or health issues, or anything really. We tend to cling to every single ounce of hope we have and sometimes it makes the truth twice as hard to accept.

… Okay that was pretty deep. I wish you all long and healthy lives with as little moments like these as possible.

Let's talk about something more light-hearted. As you could see, that chapter was slightly shorter than usual (if you ignore my ramblings). I hope you don't mind! But no worries, I'm updating in two weeks with a 12k chapter (yay) so I figured it wouldn't hurt too much to leave you with 7k for once (yes it's 7.6k if you remove the A/N…). It's a sort of turning point, after all.

Speaking of the next chapter… I'M SO EXCITED BECAUSE IT'S ONE OF MY FAVORITE CHAPTERS. I'm really impatient to show you what I've cooked! Also, next chapter, a new OC appears and I LOVE him. Gah, I'm so impatient. I NEED TO CALM DOWN.

ANYWAY. Sorry, that was too long. **What was your favorite thing/moment in that chapter?** Did you like the Hanallua moment? What did you think about the little twist with Allan and Hana? Their conversation was, along with the hints of survivor's guilt I've slipped in there, one of my favorite things to write.

Don't hesitate to tell me what you thought! You'll make a very excited and giddy author even more excited and giddy. And I'll love you forever. I'll remember you when I'm old and withered and I tell my grandkids about my lovely readers.

Anyway, thanks a lot for reading and see you in two weeks!


	8. Relapse

**A/N:** Hi there! Finally, it's updating day! I was so impatient (I always say that) (I always mean it too). Here's the HUGE 12K CHAPTER I PROMISED! Wooh.

(Okay, I'll confess something: chapters 8 and 9, and pretty much all the chapters till chapter 13 are at least 12k long. So yeah… A lot happens starting from here, kinda… both romance-wise and plot-wise, if that reassures you. Also, starting from now, they're all my favorite chapters to read and write (I've read each chapter so many times I can't count, for editing purpose and more)).

 **Note:** I've changed all names of existing places (like France or Greece or Lebanon) **but I've kept the adjectives the same to avoid confusion**. You can easily guess which existing country I've renamed that way. However, you'll find some places are completely new, mostly because I've created them. That's deliberate.

Again and again, **thank you so much for your amazing response** , for every review, favorite and follow! You guys make me feel so happy. That will sound cheesy but I love you a lot for making my experience so good. I hope I won't disappoint and I hope you'll choose to stick with me!

Also, **special thanks to the loveliest guest ever** who left me an AMAZING review in French! You know who you are, sweet friend, and I'll reply to you (in French) just below! For the others, just scroll past and the 12k of Hanallua/plot/emotions/action are yours.

 **To the cute/adorable/sweet/smart/lovely guest:** Alors. Nan mais je sais pas comment commencer, je suis déjà en train de sourire comme une idiote et j'ai même pas encore mentionné à quel point ta review m'a fait plaisir ! Ahh, j'ai vu cet adorable bout de roman s'afficher et je te jure, avec chaque phrase, j'avais mon sourire qui s'agrandissait (tu aurais dû voir ma tête !). Alors du coup, merci ! Merci pour tous ces gentils compliments, cette analyse de mes personnages, ces encouragements, ces mots qui me vont droit au cœur. Je suis très touchée et très heureuse que tu aimes mon histoire ! Et bon courage pour tes examens, je suis sûre que tu vas y arriver ! *plein de pitits cœurs partouuuut* Merci encore et bonne lecture ! En espérant que tu aimes ce chapitre !

* * *

Chapter 7: **Relapse**

* * *

 **10:12 P.M.**

She was finally back to her building. After all those hours, first with a corpse, then in a hospital. A cheerful afternoon, clearly.

She dragged herself through the front garden. Her mind was a mess of wires entangled together, except she felt as though trying to detangle it would set off a hidden bomb.

As she neared the main entry gate, she fished in her bag for her keys. But she froze. They weren't there. She opened her bag wide and looked inside, in case they had fallen inside. She checked under her wallet, between her papers, in every zipped compartment, _everywhere_.

Then, it hit her. The metallic noise when she left the restaurant. In her frenzy, she had dropped her keys at the restaurant.

 _Well, bravo, fucking genius._

She sat on the stairs and buried her head in her hands. She'd have to pick her own lock. That was the last straw.

Slowly, she took her phone, wondering if she could call the janitor to open the door. But she noticed she had an unread message. From Killua.

'I've got your keys. You can come take them at my apartment (n° 22 floor 12).'

Relief flooded through her. Both from knowing her keys were safe and that she would see Killua soon. She had thought she wouldn't be in the mood to see anyone, but it was comforting anyway to know she wouldn't be alone.

She quickly replied. 'God bless the ground you walk on.'

She stood up, rushing to the building entrance after he opened the main gate with his intercom, to the elevator, to the twelfth floor. To his apartment. But then, she froze before ringing. What could she say to him? She had to apologize for leaving so abruptly, but she didn't want to talk about what had happened. She wasn't even sure she could stomach the shock any longer, and she was afraid he would see her as she truly was inside —helpless and defeated.

She took a breath. Gathered her strength to smile. And rang. He opened the door shortly after that; she relaxed as soon as she saw him. So thankful, so reassured to see his towering figure, his sharp features, his steady stance. He looked solid and that was everything she needed at this moment. Everything she wasn't.

"Hey," she tried, terrified by the way her voice wobbled.

From the look of it, Killua wasn't buying her act. "Come in."

He closed the door as she got inside his apartment. She timidly followed him to his living-room, after removing her shoes and blazer, trying to find something to joke about and perhaps make him believe she wasn't as exhausted as she looked. But she couldn't find anything. She just looked at the TV embedded in the burgundy wall. She saw pictures, heard sounds, but couldn't make anything out of it.

"I was trying a recipe," he explained. She looked at him, then at the TV, and realized it was a cooking channel. In another context, she might have swooned. She offered a weak smile, the best she could manage. He stayed silent. Then, he switched off the TV, and the silence was suddenly deafening. "You don't have to pretend you're okay."

His words were both a slap and a gift. She dropped the pretense. Her shoulders sank in defeat as she slumped on the sofa.

She felt so small.

He sat next to her, silent. She hugged her knees, as though it might shield her from the world. She was exposed. Vulnerable and uncomfortable. She didn't even know what she could say now that she was here. It made the whole atmosphere heavier. Each second another weight on her. Another pressure on her. Pressure to speak, to say something, anything. But she couldn't. She couldn't bring herself to open her mouth and say anything. She wanted to sink into the sofa and disappear and the uneasiness grew and grew with that thought. A pit in her stomach. Ready to expand and swallow her whole.

"You know," he started, his voice soothing her down for a moment. Like a spell. "I think I never told you about the time Gon and I got lost in a forest."

"Gon?"

"My best friend."

She shook her head. "You never told me."

"Well." He sat cross-legged. "We were traveling and we got lost. It was awful. Incredibly hot and tropical. We spent days just wandering around before we found a village. A very small village, barely a hundred people. They were all nice people. They mostly lived off their crops and their livestock farming.

"We spent two weeks there, helping them in exchange for a place to sleep and enough food to find the road." He paused and smiled. "During our stay there, the whole stay, a goat followed me around. A tiny goat —didn't even reach my knee. A dwarf-goat, I believe. Everywhere I'd go, she was there. Rubbing against my leg. Bleating every single time she saw me. Sometimes, I'd sleep and wake up to see her sleeping next to me. It was inevitable. She had fallen for me."

She chuckled. Already feeling lighter. "You stole a tiny goat's heart."

"I don't even know why. I'm not even much of an animal person. Usually, animals prefer Gon. He's the beast hunter, not me. Even at the village, all the animals seemed to prefer Gon. The cow loved him but occasionally attempted to head-butt me when she saw me. The dogs played with him all the time and completely ignored me. The cat… well, the cat avoided everyone but Gon. I didn't even mind —do you see me cleaning farm animals? I still have trouble with the dishes because I have to touch wet food. But this one goat loved me. Just this one. Mad love."

She grinned. "This is adorable. A dwarf goat falling for you."

"Well, that's not all. They had a tradition in that village. They didn't name their animals until they showed some kind of unique habit. Now, guess how my goat was named."

"Killua?"

"No. Even better. Since she's so tiny, they named her _Killuette_."

She burst out laughing. Such a liberating laugh. Shaking her body off all its tension. The pressure on her body disappeared and she relaxed. "Killuette. Oh my God. They named a goat after you."

"Yep. Somewhere in the world, there is a tiny goat named after me. That's quite an accomplishment, right?"

"It really is. I should add this to my bucket list. Have a goat named after me."

"What else is on your bucket list?"

She pondered her answer. "Get a big tattoo. Kiss someone I really love under the rain. Entirely fill up the Wall of Fame. Bake a hundred different kinds of cupcakes. Pet a hundred different dogs and cats. Um." She blushed. "Meet One Direction."

His lips quirked up. "Kiss under the rain? Didn't know you were the cheesy type."

"Shh. Let me be as cheesy as I want."

"Speaking of cheese, you wanna stay for dinner?"

She rose shy eyes to him. A part of her begged her to say yes. Another wanted to crawl into a hole and stay there for the next twelve centuries. That part roared that she shouldn't be there, after all the worry she had caused and all the revelations that clouded her mind. "I don't know, I'm a bit tired. I don't want to bother you…"

"You never bother me."

She looked away, moved. "I don't know."

There was a long moment when he didn't say anything; she cursed herself for the awkwardness she had caused. Then, she felt him touch her shoulder. Such a warm, welcome contact. "Hana," he called. She looked at him. "Stay for dinner."

Her heart leaped up. She loved the confidence in his voice. The control. The balance. The gentleness. "Okay." A big weight had been lifted from her chest. She wasn't really sure how he did it, but he made her feel so safe.

He patted her shoulder. "I made pizzas." He stood up. She watched him with intent eyes, as if he had said a magical word.

"You need help?"

"Sure."

She followed him to the kitchen. It was in a much better state than she'd have expected; she was used to Thomas's kitchen or, worse, Lynd's, so seeing a relatively tidy kitchen was a blessing. They washed their hands and spread the dough on two different pizza baking papers. They applied tomato sauce on the first one, and crème fraîche on the second, then discussed the toppings and added the cheese. They put the first pizza in the oven, pretty pleased with themselves.

"You'll see," he started. "Curry chicken with onions, mushrooms, and crème fraîche? A blessing."

"I'm gonna trust you on this one. Where did you get the idea?"

"I ate a pizza like that in a pizzeria once. In Françailles."

"Wow. You even pronounce that weird _"R"_ correctly," she noted, remembering that he was fluent — _blackmail fluent_ — in French.

"Of course. I have a top-notch French pronunciation."

"Unlike me."

"Your Italian pronunciation isn't much better," he added.

"And you haven't even heard me speaking Spanish. The only thing I pronounce correctly is the rolled " _R_ ". It's hilarious actually, because Lynd is Columbian and she occasionally slips in Spanish cuss words when she's mad. It started rubbing off on me, but she usually gives me the eye when I speak Spanish. Like _"please stop killing my language"_."

"I can totally see it happening." He leaned against the counter. "Do you speak any second language?"

"I do. I know a bit of sign language. And well, I'm fluent in Tanalean, though I rarely use it. Only sometimes with my parents, but not always – usually when we can't find a word in English that corresponds or when we don't want people to understand what we're saying. I was taught English first," she explained.

"Why?"

"For school."

"So you come from Tanalea?"

"Yeah, but I was born in Megamshill. My grandmother fled the country with my father when he was a child, and my mom's family did the same. When the Kumotori issue started. Then the country closed its borders. They have only reopened ten years ago, so I've only been there a few times with my family, to meet some relatives who had stayed."

"So you don't have any attachment to it?"

"Not really… I'm not happy about what happened there because it's my people. But I don't feel any attachment to any place." She crossed her arms. "I love Megamshill. And I love my apartment, it's a place I can call mine, that looks like me, where I can be whatever I want to be. I guess that's what I should call home, because I have no expectation from the world there. But I know I could move anywhere and feel home if I'm at the right place and with the right people and the right stuff. Whatever that means."

"Home isn't a physical concept," he said. "There are some people who will make you feel like home, wherever you are."

She smiled. She thought of Thomas, who was probably killing his back with one of his weird reading postures. Of her parents, who had to be working together in the living room, occasionally taking breaks to talk and joke. Of Lynd, surely trying to convince herself to tidy up her apartment even though she knew it was useless. "Do you have a home, then?"

He smiled, too. Such a gentle smile. "I do."

The timer rang. He went to fetch the pizza. She wondered, while he had his back to her, who his home was. If he was referring to his best friend— Gon —or if it was someone else. Perhaps another friend, or a parent figure, like her. Or someone with whom he was romantically involved.

The thought hit her like a brick. She hadn't even envisaged he could have a significant other. Now that she thought of it, it was very likely that he wasn't… available. He was terribly attractive. Intelligent. Kind. Witty. With an amazing sense of humor. And his smile. God, _his_ _smile_. Usually, guys like him were taken.

Then again, he was traveling. He had also flirted with her a few times, and didn't look like the type to flirt while taken. And she didn't have a boyfriend, did she? Or well, not anymore. She had only been single for three months. She was usually rarely single…

She looked at him as he put the second pizza in the oven. The smell of baked crust and melted cheese filled the whole kitchen. He turned to her. "We let it cool down, and then we tear it down."

"I can't wait." She tilted her head. "Can I ask you something? As in, something weird that has nothing to do with pizzas or homes?"

"Sure? As if that would change from the usual."

"Do you… have a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend? Or a romantic partner in general?"

He raised an eyebrow. "No, I'm single." He smirked. "Does that reassure you?"

It did. "I was just curious."

"Yeah, sure. Just curious."

"Shh. I was just wondering because you're totally the type to never be single."

"Hmmm." He leaned against the counter, amusement lacing in his smirk. "How come?"

"Please, you know why."

He shrugged. "I am oblivious. Tell me."

She rolled her eyes. "You just want to be complimented, don't you?" He nodded with a playful expression, and she sighed in defeat—she couldn't resist. "You have everything. Looks, wit, intelligence. And you're genuinely nice. People like you are rarely single."

"And yet here I am. I've been single for…" he rose his eyes to the ceiling. "Five months. My last girlfriend."

"Dumped, or got dumped?"

"Got dumped."

"Her loss."

"I know right?"

She fidgeted with her hair, twirling a strand around her finger. He was single and into girls, to a certain extent. _That_ was a thought she liked. "Would it be indiscreet… to know why?" she risked.

"I was too emotionally distant for her."

She frowned, feeling as though she had been personally offended. "Yeah. I got that too," she said, more bitterly than she had first planned.

He gave her a funny look. "Looks like you can relate."

"Ugh." She sighed. "With almost all of my exes. Too detached, too emotionally distant, too uninvolved. Like, okay, true. It _is_ true. But I wasn't made to want to… to…"

"Trust," he finished.

"Yeah, that thing. Trust. And entrust. Entrust yourself to someone, your real self. With the ugly sides too. I didn't feel like I could do that with them."

"In those cases, I don't know if anyone can be blamed. It sucks when someone doesn't trust you, but it also sucks when you feel like you can't trust someone."

"True. Though I'm actually being such a hypocrite because I left my first boyfriend for that reason." She exhaled. Thinking about Kai was never pleasant.

"Doesn't make you a hypocrite. Different people, different circumstances."

"Hopefully that's true," she thought aloud.

The second timer rang. "So you're single too?" he asked as he opened the oven. The smell of curry made her mouth water.

"Yep."

"Interesting."

"I know right? Both hot, both single. Are you thinking of what I'm thinking?"

He put the plate on the table. "I'm thinking that you just called me hot."

"Of course."

He started cutting the pizzas. "Okay, so what's the plan? Are you asking me out?" he joked.

"You wish."

He chuckled. "So what?"

"Well. In a way, the odds of finding two hot, single and generally decent people in the same room are pretty low. Mathematically speaking."

He glared at her. "… Really? Math?"

"But it's true!"

"Right, right." He put the knife away. "Let's eat to the mathematical oddity that we are."

They put the plates on the counter. She sat next to him on a stool. His kitchen was a lot like hers—minus the colors and useless funky gadgets she bought— mainly because most apartments in the building had been built on the same model. She had been so preoccupied when she had arrived that she hadn't even processed that she was in Killua's apartment. Now, the Whisper seemed far. Just for a moment.

He sat next to her. They started eating. "Hanaiko," he said after some time in a perfect accent, with a small lilt on the _"nai"._ The way it should be. She liked the way he said her name. "I've been to Tanalea once, with Leorio. Now that I think of it, I've heard this name a few times there. Does it mean anything?"

"It means "amaryllis". The country's symbol."

"Amaryllis." He looked up, the way he usually did when he was thinking. "Do you know what amaryllises mean?"

"No?"

"Pride. Determination. Success after a hard time." He glanced at her. "Immense beauty."

Her lips quirked up in a goofy grin. "Fairly accurate," she joked, but her heart was all over the place. "I'm more concerned by the fact that you speak flowers."

"Spend two days with a talkative florist and you'll know enough to write an encyclopedia. He told me so much about flowers, what they mean depending on where you are. He made it sound interesting."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. For example, chrysanthemums are a symbol of joy in Nihon. In Françailles they're given in funerals."

"Not exactly the same purpose." She finished her slice of pizza and left the crust. "I bet you have a lot of random pieces of knowledge like that."

"I do. I know the different knots sailors make, random urban legends in various countries, some grandma tricks to suppress colds or fevers, what plant—or venom— to use when a snake bites you, and so on. So many bits of knowledge I got here and there from meeting people." He took the crust she had left and ate it.

"In a way, those people keep living in you through those little bits of knowledge. Isn't that amazing?"

"It is. Human interaction in general is an exchange. Especially when you both come from different places, or when you're both different. You exchange different ways to see the world, to live, to express yourself."

"You grow a lot, too," she added. "There will always be someone who will give you a new angle to something, and every time you are more solid. You have more than just one point of view to see something."

"Agreed. Everyone has something new to add to your conception."

She munched on her pizza. "Isn't it funny, though, how deep down humans share so, so much?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we all have ethics, philosophy, art and literature, music, science and math, gastronomy, and so on. We all sing about love, death, sorrow. We all feel injustice. We're all so different but we're also built on the same foundation."

"Hmm. Because all humans have feelings and curiosity, and all of them will endure pain and experience love through any form. Usually, we find inspiration in our feelings and our experiences, and we're motivated by… our needs. And our wishes."

"Still, I find it amazing. I mean, for example, take this pizza. I know that the origins are attributed to Italasienna, but I'm pretty sure there are countries in which they had never seen an Italian pizza and yet they thought " _hey, I'm gonna make this bread flat and throw something on it_ ". Like in Ancient Greecios, or in Lebeni. It's pretty awesome. What are the odds of people who never interacted or even met having the exact same idea?"

"Well, there's a limited source of choices —your ingredients— and a common need —eating— and together with a fair deal of randomness they can give you similar ideas in different people."

"Yes, that's the word I wanted! Randomness. Probabilities. At some point, the sickest odds had to meet for it to happen."

"Sickest," he repeated.

"Shh. Don't make fun of my word choice."

"You're right. There's a fair deal of "sick chance" involved in everything. Just like there's a fair deal of incredibly sick chance for _you_ to exist the way you are."

"And a _really_ sick deal of chance for two results of _that_ incredibly sick chance to meet. In this particular abandoned basketball court, in this building set, at this one time. All odds and probabilities."

"I told you." His intense gaze peered deep into her eyes. "You can't be unlucky."

* * *

She stretched and sat on the sofa. She felt well-rested, which was _not_ how she had expected to feel after being sure the Whisper was back. She looked at Killua from the corner of her eye. Whatever magic he was performing on her was working. And she was thankful.

He noticed her staring, and smiled. "What is it?" he asked as he joined her on the sofa.

"Nothing. I was just contemplating how good that meal was."

"While looking at me."

"While looking at you."

He didn't say anything. Then, he left and came back with something in his hand.

Her keys.

"You dropped those at the restaurant," he said.

She stared at them, and took them.

The restaurant. It rushed back to her, how she had left him without a warning or even a proper explanation. She realized he hadn't said anything about that, hadn't even brought up the fact that she had run away. Even though he probably felt confused afterward. Perhaps even upset or worried. All because of her. And yet here he was, taking care of her.

She took a deep breath. She owed him an apology. "Killua, about earlier…"

"What about it?"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I left without a warning. I was really looking forward to that lunch with you but…" She stopped. But what? How exactly could she explain her panic without delving into her personal life?

He was silent. "It's fine. I'm more concerned about why you're not okay. It's linked to that, right?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I just… I got the confirmation that the Whisper is back." Saying it out loud felt worse. It made it all too real. She had known all along, but the certainty of it was like a key locking the shackles that had been around her wrist, during all this time. She had always known that eventually, they would lock. But that didn't diminish the anguish. "I had to go."

"There is more to your issue with the Whisper than a scar, right?" he asked.

She didn't dare to deny it. He would see right through her. "There is." A lot more. But she didn't want to talk about it. A part of her _did_ want to share her burden with him, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. It felt too personal, and there were too many things to say. So many of which were ugly.

(And also, she didn't want to cry in front of him.)

Fortunately, he didn't press the issue. He sat cross-legged. "So, you like math," he changed the topic. She felt relieved that he respected her will, and even grateful that he was making it easier for her to think about something else.

Her eyes lit up. "Are you sure you want to ask that?"

"Very sure."

"Well, I _love_ math."

"Heh. I never managed to like it. What's so amazing about it?"

"… Are you _really_ sure you are ready to listen to my ramblings?" she asked, but she already felt the thrill bubbling in her chest.

He shrugged. "Try me."

She inhaled. "Okay, so…"

After that, she talked. And talked. And _talked_. So much she felt her throat get dry. She rambled about algebra, vector spaces and linear applications and matrices and planes and mathematical objects. About all the possible ways to approximate functions and about all the different dimensions math explored, all the things her mind couldn't even begin to imagine because of how deep they were. Complex numbers, the very _concept_ of imaginary numbers, how unlikely they were to even exist and yet how useful they were. And so on, and on, and on.

So, yes, she talked a lot. But his eyes never left her while she did.

It felt really, really good.

* * *

 **Monday, March 30th**

 **00:12 A.M.**

She was talking, about math of all things, but he had stopped listening since long. He had tried hard to follow her, but she had lost him somewhere in imaginary numbers and exponentials. He caught words here and there —something about a guy named Euler and cosines — but she was going too fast for him.

But he hadn't stopped watching her. Entranced by her enthusiasm. The light in her eyes, the red in her cheeks, the little movements she made with her head, her hand gestures. She was so passionate. Her whole face had lit up, her whole body moved with her words.

She was beautiful.

He lingered on that thought, intrigued by its suddenness and its certainty. He wondered why he hadn't noticed before. He had found her pretty, and charming, but at this moment she was so much more.

A lock of hair slipped from behind her ear, flowing with her movements. A beauty spot kept peeking from behind that lock, furtive yet so obsessing. His eyes followed the tiny, hidden spot lodged under her ear, so close to her neck. Pulled by the sight of her skin.

Before he knew was he was doing, he had reached for it. Sliding the lock back behind her ear, his fingertips brushing the tantalizing beauty spot. So small, so delicate. So tempting. So _burning_.

"Killua?"

He darted his eyes to her, slowly pulling back. Only now realizing what he had done. She was looking at him with a mixture of astonishment, curiosity and, perhaps, amusement.

"Sorry, I wasn't really thinking," he apologized.

"It's fine. I wouldn't resist me either." She flashed a cheeky smile. "What was so interesting to bewitch you like that?"

"You have a lot of beauty spots," he said. And they were particularly entrancing. Small landmarks that always caught his eyes.

"I do." She tilted her head in that alluring way of hers. "All over my body. I even have a set of beauty spots that look like a tiny paw print." She craned her neck and leaned forward. "Over here."

His eyes fell on the exposed skin. It called to him. "It looks like a tiny tattoo." The corner of his lips faintly shot up. "Perhaps in your previous life, you were a puppy."

She laughed. "Or perhaps I died trampled to death by an army of puppies. If I had to choose, that's how I'd like to die," she mused.

"You only have one paw print, though. So it was only one puppy." He paused. "A _spy_ puppy. Injected poison in your body to kill you. Left a single paw print."

"On a mission to kill the most beautiful person in the world. Sent by the evil queen."

He arched an eyebrow. "Honestly, I'd be the evil queen just to kill your boastful ass."

"I guess you can't handle someone more beautiful than you."

"No, you spelled "boastful" wrong," he argued.

She shrugged. "I forgot what I was saying," she announced, then smiled. A gentle, thankful smile. "I even forgot I was supposed to feel bad."

"Aren't you glad you stayed?" he asked in a softer voice.

"I am. Thank you, Killua."

It was amazing how such simple words could do so much to him.

She glanced at the clock on her phone. "Anyway, I should go now. It's late and you must be tired," she said.

"Okay." Though he really didn't mind. He hadn't even felt time pass. Not even when he didn't understand a word she was saying.

She got up and smoothed her dress. He walked her to the door, taking her bag that she had forgotten on the sofa.

He gave it to her when she was done wearing her boots. "You have a knack for forgetting your stuff with me," he said.

"I'm unconsciously finding excuses to see you," she joked.

"You don't need excuses. Just bring chocolate and my door will always be open."

She laughed, and he found himself smiling somewhere through her laugh. "Chocobot."

"Choco _ro_ bot. You dork."

She puckered her lips. "Same thing." Then, as he arched an eyebrow: "Just kidding, just kidding."

"Better be."

"I'll see you?"

"Yeah, see you."

She hurried to the stairs, but turned to wave at him before disappearing. Just like when they had met. But this time, he waved back.

He closed the door. He went back to the living-room and stared at it from his spot. It looked so empty. The silence was deafening now that she was gone. No more integrals and series expansions. Just him and the silence. And his thoughts. He tried to interpret the sudden emptiness _he_ felt, to put some words on it.

He realized that he missed her.

He pictured again her face when she had answered the call at the restaurant. The dread that had crossed her eyes, the blood that had left her cheeks, the lost expression in her gaze. The speed at which she had regained her composure. He closed his eyes. Thought again of her eyes that escaped his when she had admitted her issue with the Whisper was worse than he had thought. Of the reluctance he saw in them, as if suddenly she had raised walls around herself. He had given up on asking more questions afterward. She would talk when she was ready, and if she wanted to.

Still, the curiosity nudged him. He wondered what had happened to her, why she avoided talking about the Whisper that much, why it affected her so much. He had only heard of the Whisper in stories and criminal reports. He didn't know enough about the case. All he knew was that he had been uncatchable —quite literally, as he still roamed free. And that many had died while trying to hunt him down.

He went to the bathroom, stuck on his thought, to prepare for the night. Once he had slipped in his pajamas —drawstring flannel pants— he lay on his bed, but he couldn't sleep. He couldn't stop picturing her trembling hands. How he had wanted to take them in his own and hold them until they stilled. How he had wanted to help, in any way, rather than see her slip away with that fake calm on her face.

But eventually, all these thoughts quieted down as he slipped into a dreamless sleep. His breath slowed, his eyes closed. His body drifted toward unconsciousness.

The last thing he saw before giving in to sleep was the puppy paw near her neck.

* * *

 **4:13 A.M.**

It started with a drop.

Just one drop. A timid sound breaking the eerie silence. She stopped walking. Waited. Listened. Until another drop resounded. She turned toward the sound. She hesitated, but eventually followed it. She wasn't quite sure where she was going, but she had nowhere else to go. She just walked, moved by some unknown certainty lodged in her chest that told her she had to go there. She wasn't even sure why she was in this place, or what it was.

All she knew was that she had to be there.

The drops kept going, regular like a clock. Louder with each step she took. She glided her hand on the wall to guide herself in the dark, shivering at the way the granular surface bit her skin, cringing because of how damp and warm it was. Somehow, she couldn't shake off the feeling that the walls were breathing.

Then, suddenly, a door appeared. How? She wasn't sure. Perhaps it had always been there, but she hadn't seen it. Perhaps it had appeared at this moment. Perhaps it didn't even exist, and she was just imagining things. But as she extended her arm in front of her, she realized it was real. Cold and uninviting, but real. She grasped the metallic handle. Lingered, because she was torn between curiosity and apprehension, between determination and revulsion. But still opened the door.

(She should not have done that.)

A scream caught in her throat. Right in front of her, bathing in his own blood, Feri.

He turned to stare at her.

She stumbled on her feet, shaking the doorknob as hard as she could. Anxiety swelled in her chest with each second, with Feri's wide open eyes stuck on her. Following her movements while the rest of his body was still. She wanted to scream, but she had no voice. Cursed by a stubborn silence that weighed in her throat.

The doorknob melted in dozens of spiders, stinging her hand until she finally let out a small, inaudible yelp. The best scream she could manage. She shook her hand, shook the vivid pain away, darted her eyes to the crawling mass of spiders, and then to Feri, who was still watching her with wide glassy eyes. A sense of desperation swelled in her throat. Tears spilled on her face, as though her fear was overflowing in her, as through her refrained screams were pouring out of her eyes. A meager consolation for losing control over her voice.

Something moved in the shadows of the room. She froze, paralyzed by a sense of foreboding she couldn't ignore.

She had already lived that scene. Once. Twice. And then more and more times. Over and over. She knew it by heart, and yet forgot it each time it happened. It made her live through the disaster all over again.

A man came out of the shadow. A tall, tall man. With a cloak around him and no face. The moment she saw him she knew who he was. He started walking toward her. Slowly. Pushing the shattered pieces of glass away as he walked. Sauntering, taunting her with his leisurely gait. He was in no hurry. He knew he would catch her.

She wanted to run, but she couldn't. Just like her voice, her legs had stopped responding. They were glued to the floor, and she slipped each time she tried to move away from him. Frustration gripped her body. Desperation fueled her muscles. Fear seeped into her veins and morphed to terror when he was only a few feet away. Gnawing her little hope into grief. Her eyes couldn't leave his hand that dangled by his side because she knew what awaited her. She knew why her heart was hammering against her chest and why it seemed to burst out of her body and why her head vibrated with pain and why her skin crawled with revulsion and why her whole body had turned into the scream she couldn't scream.

She knew he would raise his hand when he did. She knew he would open his hand when he did. She knew what she would see. The burnt glove. The flower. The stamens. But there was something she hadn't expected to see, and her heart sank when she saw it.

The flower was an amaryllis.

* * *

She jolted awake. Panting, shaking. Her eyes wide open, staring at nothing as she took her head in her hands and touched her face. She was real. She was in her bed. In her warm bed. There were no spiders biting her hands and no dead friends staring at her and no serial killer in her room. Even if it had felt all too real. The breathing walls. The stings. The frustration. All too real.

After what felt like a few minutes, she realized she had been crying, dried her tears and blew her nose. She stood up, going for the balcony adjacent to the living room.

She stared out the window, working on steadying her breath. She occasionally dreamt of the Whisper, every now and then, but it had been months since she had last relived the mission. A feeling of failure gripped her. It was irrational, but she couldn't help it. The terror had been all too real, just like during the first weeks after the mission. She still felt it pulsating in her temples, capricious but most definitely there. As if this whole evening laughing with Killua had never happened, a mere delay to the nightmares. Hell, as if all these years working on her issues had been for nothing.

"It's okay to be scared," Thomas had told her when she'd first talked to him. "It's okay to relapse. It's okay to have nightmares. You're healing."

Thomas. Her Thomas.

He was out there. They all were.

She stared far, at the buildings that stretched in the horizon and the lights that dotted the dark sky. And she told herself that somewhere out there, her parents were sleeping, her mother's back against her father's. Somewhere out there, Thomas and June were sleeping, intertwined in a bundle of warmth and a mess of black and chestnut hair. Somewhere out there, Lynd was sleeping, on her back, arms and legs sprawled on the bed, the blanket kicked down on the floor.

She took a deep breath. Somewhere out there, Killua was sleeping, too. She didn't know how he slept, whether he moved a lot or not, took all the blanket or not, lay on his stomach or his side or his back, but she knew he was out there.

She wasn't alone.

They were all out there.

She swallowed and closed the window, suddenly conscious of the cold on her skin. It shook some sense in her mind, cooled down her panic.

After all, it was just a dream. A bad dream. A _horrible_ dream. But a dream nonetheless.

She turned to go to her room. Yet, she was unable to sleep. Feri's eyes haunted her, glassy and dead. His gaze frozen and still. His tears still warm, pooling in the bloodbath around him.

And the hole in his chest.

She shut her eyes closed. The hand grew near to her face, despicable with its graceful flower barely peeking from the glove. With the _amaryllis_ peeking from the glove. And it came closer.

And closer.

 _And closer._

She sat up, quivering, catching her breath. She couldn't sleep. Not now. Not when the nightmares were prowling. She wouldn't bear another relapse, not that night.

She jumped out of bed. Took her laptop. Went to the kitchen. Opened the cupboard. Took a glass, and the bottle of vodka. Sat in the living room with her laptop. And started working.

 _Enough._

 _Enough was enough._

* * *

 **Thursday, April 2nd**

 **9:01 P.M.**

Four days.

It had been four days since he had last seen Hana. Four days since the last time he had even heard about her.

Killua stared at his phone. She hadn't been online in four days, too. Hadn't sent any texts, hadn't called, hadn't given any sign that she was alright. Which should have been okay; he didn't expect friends to constantly be in contact. Had it been Gon, it wouldn't have worried him, or even surprised him. But Hana's uncharacteristic silence wasn't innocuous. And he felt like her issue with the Whisper had to do with that.

He locked his phone and looked at the building. There was light in her window, which meant she was here at the very least. But she was either avoiding him —they usually saw each other every night at the court, and sometimes in the morning when they left for work —or was in a bad place. Either way, he didn't take it personally. He was just worried. What if she needed help but didn't want to or couldn't ask? He thought of her trembling hands, again. Of how small and fragile she had looked despite her robust frame. She had hesitated before accepting to let him help, and he hadn't missed her readiness to isolate herself in spite of how much she needed support. He was afraid she was doing it again —shutting herself out, avoiding help, suffering alone.

But no matter how much he wanted to help, he wasn't sure it was appropriate. What if he was just imagining things, and she actually needed time alone? What if he was just getting ahead of himself? What if she didn't need _his_ help? They hadn't met so long ago, and he was sure someone as bright as her was surrounded by a lot of people who loved her.

And yet, he couldn't stop thinking about her. His instinct almost begged him to show up at her door and check she was healthy and fine. He couldn't shake off this feeling that she needed someone but couldn't ask, and even if he perhaps wasn't the best help she could get, he wanted to do something. He couldn't deny that he cared about her.

The cat jumped on the bench, where Hana usually sat. He looked at her, and she looked back at him, with curious green eyes. She meowed at him. He shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't seen her either." She cocked her head to the side. Then, she stretched and lay down on the bench, wrapping her tail around herself. He glanced at the window, then at the cat sleeping next to him, then at his phone.

Perhaps he should text her. Just a sign that he was here, and she wasn't alone. An invitation to talk to him if she needed someone to talk to. He glanced once more at her window, and at this moment, she shut off the lights.

He sighed.

Not tonight.

* * *

 **Friday, April 3rd**

 **3:12 P.M.**

"I've gathered as much info as I could about the gun conjurer you're looking for, Elias Galivanos. Apparently, he's been a treasure hunter for six years now, but his ways are not exactly appreciated among treasure hunters, and he's more famous for his blurry morals than his actual treasure hunting skills… Are you listening to me, Killua?"

He rose his eyes from his phone, quickly sliding his phone in his pocket. "Huh, yeah. I am."

Maya crossed her arms. "Doesn't seem like you are."

"Nah, I am. I swear. I was just checking something," he assured. Something about a certain chatty girl who hadn't said a word in days. He wasn't sure what was more frustrating: the fact that he didn't know if she was alright or not, or the fact that he couldn't stop thinking about whether she was alright or not.

Her features softened. "Is anything wrong?"

"Nothing, I'm good. But anyway, what did you find about Elias?"

Her hands moved to her hips as she looked up at Poko who was still flying over the archives room. "Poko is still going through the archives, but so far I've found out that he's quite well-known for his unpredictability. No one can pin him down and know what exactly he's doing or why. He seems to work for his own account but he's taken a few jobs here and there —nothing very original. Usually, he doesn't cause too much trouble, but I've seen a few fishy cases in which he had been involved before."

"Such as?"

"Thefts. Mainly jewels. I've skimmed through quite a few cases and I feel like jewels are his only known motivation," she explained. "He was there during the Southern Piece auction, seven years ago. Some people thought he had been aiming for a jewel."

He scoffed. "Too bad the Phantom Troup beat him to it."

"True." She motioned toward one of the large tables in their section of the archives room. A few folders were sitting on the table. "This is what I got. It seems strange to me that he got involved with the Priman issue, but then again, anything could happen with him."

He took the first folder and skimmed through its content. The documents were complete transcripts of Elias's past criminal records, as well as a few cases in which he had supposedly been involved. Exactly what he needed. After skimming through the list he got from Ophelia, he had concluded that there were big chances Elias Galivanos was the conjurer Killua was looking for. Now, he needed to peel off those files Maya had found for him.

"You're right. He doesn't seem to have any reason to hate Priman. He's clearly a freelance. He's worked for both the Karasu and Aobajou families, who have been rivals and opponents for decades. He just doesn't give a shit."

"As long as he gets what he wants, I guess he doesn't care."

Killua sat down. He had thought that the gun conjurer could have been a bodyguard, but it seemed like he had been wrong. "I'm gonna take a deeper look at those documents."

"Alright. Poko will probably finish in about twenty minutes."

He glanced at the plump owl patrolling between the shelves. "Will she be able to give me his location?"

"I think so. She just needs some time because there isn't much known about Elias. He's pretty discreet in the community." She looked at her watch. "Anyway, I'll let you take a look at the files and I'll be back in fifteen minutes. I need to find something."

"Okay."

He plunged back in the documents, peeling page after page of mainly useless information. Elias's name popped from time to time, but the documents repeated the same things over and over. That witnesses had seen him but there wasn't enough proof to inculpate him. That he had been in a certain part of the city when a theft had happened there, but no one had seen him actually do it. That he had worked once for a certain family, but then had ditched them to work for another, but then had left to do something else, and so on. Just as Killua had said before, Elias simply didn't give a shit.

But when he reached the third folder, Killua did find something valuable. It was a case about an exhibit in a museum. Rare and valuable jewels had been exposed and quite a few renowned, rich people had been expected to come. A way to attract potential sponsors for a beginning artist —the museum owner's son — who had slipped a few of his best works among the showcased items. He had been counting on the rare treasures to bring more people who would "unexpectedly" see his work. In short, a smart way to spread the museum's cultural heritage while piquing people's interests about a beginning artist.

Or well, that was how it was _supposed_ to happen. A few jewels had been stolen after a "big, white flash" blinded all the guests, and the exhibit had been crashed. A security camera had recorded an unidentifiable man sneaking in among the guests, but the time for the guards to arrive, the jewels had already been stolen and half the guests were blind. The thief, however, had never been found by the local police. Two of the stolen jewels had been retrieved, sent by an untraceable anonymous, but the rest was still missing, and so was the culprit.

The HCDS had been called on the case, and Elias had been accused, but his title of Hunter had made it impossible for the museum to sue him. The HCDS was still trying to pressure Elias into stopping his activities, though they were tiring of him and more pressing matters were diverting their attention.

Not that Elias cared. He denied all kinds of accusations and refused to cooperate. And well, it was hard to properly prove his involvement, no matter how obvious it was. He never left any evidence that could help investigators trace back to him. No bullet, or strand of hair, or even fingerprints. Nothing. Just the ghost of his presence.

Maya came back with a big pack of files, interrupting his reading. She put them on the table and sighed, hands on her hips. His eyes wandered on the edge of the largest folder.

 **Freigo Whisper – 20XX –**

"The Whisper," he read out loud.

"Hmm. He's really back."

"I heard so, from Hana."

She remained silent, then sat down. "Hana, you say. You two grew closer," she noted.

"I guess," he replied after a short hesitation. "Did she contact you about the Whisper?"

"Yes. She sent me a couple of reports yesterday and the day before that. Detailed reports, too."

He carefully listened, in spite of the pang of worry in his chest. Was she avoiding him? Or was she avoiding _help_? "Did she find anything?"

Maya rested her head on her hand. "She told me about what she and Mr. Fox had discussed. She also gave me reports of all the last conversations Maes had had. I haven't finished reading everything, but she did a good job, for sure," she said in a dreary voice.

"But…?"

She got lost in the stack of files in front of her, silent. Slowly, she leaned on the table and sighed. "I'm so tired, Killua. It's just… It's so much bigger than I first thought," she swiveled, facing him with pleading eyes. "Do you realize? The _Whisper_? Just how deep does this mad story go?"

He stayed quiet. He wasn't sure what he could say, because she was right. What had begun as a terribly shocking suicide had turned out to be a terribly shocking murder, and there was no saying just how far the case unfolded. No one had ever managed to catch the Whisper, and Killua knew that as long as he roamed free, Maya wouldn't rest.

"He can't just keep running," he thought out loud.

But Maya was staring at nothing, her gaze unflinching. "Only one survivor."

Killua flinched. "What?"

"Hanaiko told us there was only one survivor. One person who survived the curse."

He stared at her, dumbstruck. A premonition simmered in his mind, cruel, ruthless, but way too damn logical. "I suppose she didn't tell you who that person was," he tried, careful about not letting his doubts leak in his voice.

"No. She doesn't know them. Their identity is confidential."

He looked away. His hypothesis was despicable, but it made perfect sense. Her scar, her terror, her unwillingness to even mention the Whisper. Her isolation. The blood drained from her face. The fear carved in every single crease of her face when the Whisper had come back.

Did Hana just _know_ there was a survivor?

Maya kept going. "Now that the Whisper is back, hunters are all looking for the survivor. They want to meet them and question them. They're all frantically looking for them." She paused. "They asked me questions, too. About Maes and the case. About how he died and whether or not he had puncture points or if he had been stabbed or had ingested acid. Even Leorio has been receiving emails from hunters who want to meet us."

He frowned, seized by a sudden bout of anger. "They're all fucking vultures," he spat. "They just want the fame of catching the Whisper and bringing his head to the HCDS. Possibly even to the Hunter Association." He thought again of all the hunters and hitmen who had tried to break into the Zoaldyeck estate, seduced by a virtual reward they would never be able to obtain. Those hunters were just the same. Rushing in danger without a second thought, fueled by greed and pride.

"Yeah." She took a deep breath. "I just hope there will be an end to this."

He couldn't reply. He couldn't be sure there would be a concrete end to wrap-up this story, and he didn't want to give her empty promises. It wouldn't help her. "Do you know who will take the case?" he changed the topic.

She shrugged. "Mr. Fox is considering it, along with a student of his. A promising student, he said."

"All his students are promising," he mused.

"Well, he only chooses those with the best potential." She was playing with the ring Leorio had gifted her, on her index. "He told me Hanaiko used to be one of his students."

He stifled a flinch. "Really?"

She nodded. "That's why he trusts her. But he didn't tell me why she isn't affiliated to the HCDS anymore. Mr. Fox never lets his students down, so I'm guessing that she left."

A few seconds passed, during which Killua didn't say a word, even though he had the answers to her unasked questions. Slowly, the puzzle pieces started fitting together.

At this moment, Poko hooted. He swiveled toward the noise, narrowing his eyes as she flew toward Maya. "… Is she done?" he asked, arching an eyebrow as she landed on the table, hopping a few times with her tiny feet, all puffy and blue and wide-eyed.

Maya cracked a smile. "She is." She extended her arm. "So, what did you find, Poko?"

The owl hooted, again, and delivered an egg. She then disappeared as Maya concealed her.

He blinked at the egg. "What the hell?"

Maya chuckled. "What? You don't like it?" She took the egg. "Poko is a bird! She gives eggs."

"That's… Okay. I don't know what I expected."

She smiled. It was such a relief to see the warmth back in her eyes. "When she needs to give me small pieces of information, she gives me eggs." She pushed it closer to him. "Here, open it!"

He grimaced. "I'm not touching an egg that just popped out of an owl's ass."

She chortled. "Poko isn't a real bird, come on! And does that really look like a real egg?"

"Still. Not trusting it. A butt is a butt," he argued, even though he had to admit she was right. If anything, the egg looked more like a heavily-decorated Easter egg than a real egg. His thoughts drifted once again toward Hana; he was sure she would like it, with all its colorful swirls and dots.

She rolled eyes and opened the egg the same way she would open a Kinder egg. "Here, your majesty." She gave him the piece of paper.

He unfolded it.

 _58, Salazar Romaero street  
96844 Zerenice  
Megamshill, Sahelta States_

He frowned. Zerenice was the Pit's official name, and the Romaero Street was one of its shadiest areas. "He lives in the Pit."

"What did you expect from a lone thief?"

He scoffed. "The worst thieves live in the biggest mansions."

"That's true," she concurred.

He stood up. "Anyway, I gotta go." He picked up the copies Maya had made of Elias's case and put them in his satchel. "Thanks for everything. You helped a lot."

"No problem. Glad that I could help. And good luck, for whatever you're gonna do."

He flashed a confident smile. "Thanks, but I'm not gonna need luck."

"I'm aware of that. Don't do anything bad," she laughed.

He smirked. "Nah, I won't." He folded the piece of paper and slid it in his pocket. "I'm just gonna pay him a little visit."

* * *

 **10:42 P.M.**

He glided along the streets, a shadow among shadows. Merged with the darkness, blended with the silence. Black coat and soundless footsteps. His sharp eyes picked apart the faded numbers on the buildings, the broken plates on which the street names had once been carved. Callapio street… Albert Galiche street… General Mallory Street… They all passed before his eyes, one by one, all unfamiliar names of a once glorious time, a waned era of bright personalities.

He stopped at the corner of a crossroads, as laughs thick with alcohol rose near a dilapidated building facing him. A couple of men staggered out of it, drunk beyond relief, making their ways into the single light flickering in front of the building. He narrowed his eyes, watching them as they passed around the bottle to take big chugs from it. They were soon joined by a few other men, also laughing.

 _Too lively_ , he thought, mentally mapping the area. He was still in a somewhat frequented neighborhood — as frequented as the Pit could be at night — which meant he still had a long way. The Romaero street was deeper in the Pit, in the Centenary neighborhood, near the areas even the vilest delinquents avoided, because criminals of another level had conquered them. Black market merchants, essentially. Ruthless, godless, lawless, _powerful_. Pulling the strings of an underground market connected to York Shin's, Les Anges's, or even The Valley's. Among them, a few good-hunters-gone-bad resold some treasures they had acquired or exchanged them against goods they sought for whatever personal motives they had. Elias was one of them.

With one strong jump, Killua reached the other side of the street. He dived deeper in the neighborhood, unseen and unheard. Eventually, the few laughs and occasional screams deafened, the lights died, the buildings crumbled, and those that still stood seemed to have jumped back in time. Only then, Killua stopped. He had reached the Centenary.

He looked around him, peering into the darkness, into the cold. A perpetual whisper seemed to float in the area. The wind sneaking in the narrow windows played a sinister melody, a ghost-like flute whistling in every crack and every hole. A few hints of this place's flourishing past peeked through the ruins; half-collapsed ornate balconies, a single tower peaking amid the skeleton of a gothic church, the faded cursive writing of a chic coffee shop, steel bars popping from a grand theater like veins in a cadaver… The corpse of the Centenary lay with its jewels, a fallen king decaying in his grave.

He walked on the pavement, his eyes trailing along the broken glasses, the sealed off doors, the dusty shops. He wondered what had happened to this place. A once rich place stripped off its wealth, withered and damaged. So much of the Pit's history was blurry, a stew of true facts mixed with rumors and urban legends.

Killua had heard that the Pit used to be the city center of Megamshill, decades ago. That Princes and Princesses came in the Centenary to watch the best opera singers perform at the theater that lay dead next to him, at this moment. He had also heard that the Centenary had crumbled further after the Kumotori issue in Tanalea, as most of its wealth had been supplied by rich Tanalean merchants after the nineteenth century. Spices, textile, jewels, literature… Tanalean immigrants, before the Kumotori issues, had been the powerhouse of the Zerenice area, and especially the Centenary.

Then, Kumotori had happened, and history diverged from there as to what had truly happened. Some blamed the Tanaleans. Some whispered that Tanaleans had been scapegoats. Some claimed it was a conspiracy. No one could find a common ground or a solid foundation to solve the puzzle the Centenary was. All people knew was that they hadn't been told everything.

Killua stopped walking. The Salazar Romaero street came into sight, and all his previous questions flew away. Immediately, Killua trapped his aura in, setting up a Zetsu to avoid being spotted, but left it imperfect enough to be spotted by Elias only.

He kept going until he saw the "58" and stopped. The building's entrance was gaping, its door stripped away to reveal naked stairs inside. He carefully stepped in, his eyes darting from a gray wall to another, scrutinizing their surface for any trap. He hadn't felt any electric system on this floor, and the closest source of electricity was located on the third floor, which was also the closest presence he felt.

So, he went to the third floor, stopping near a locked door through which he heard a man hum a song. A song about going the distance and being a hero that Killua was sure he had heard somewhere. He leaned in, focused on the movements in the room. Boots on tiles. A glass on a wooden table. A hand wiping something on some surface.

A chuckle.

"Hey there," a voice said. A bottle pushed away on the same table. "Seems like I have some visit." Boots shifting on the tiles. Turning toward him.

A smirk tugged at Killua's lips. He grabbed the doorknob, effortlessly opening it in spite of the lock. Locked doors had never been a problem for him. He swung it open, revealing Elias with a bottle of gin, leaning against a wooden table, the closest thing to furniture in the room.

"Not bad," Killua commented, his eyes riveted on Elias. He was tall, slightly taller than Killua. With golden skin complimenting bright olive eyes, a short stubble and delightfully tousled black hair.

"You're not bad yourself. That Zetsu was perfect. If you hadn't wanted to be seen, I _probably_ wouldn't have felt a thing." He leered Killua with a cocky grin. "You are?"

"Just a visitor," Killua replied, walked in with deliberate offhandedness. "A visitor who needs to have a talk with you."

Elias groaned. "Please. A talk. Came all this way to the Centenary to see some loser like me just for _a talk_?"

"Cooperation and information," Killua clarified. "That's what I need from you."

"That's new. Usually, people who come here want my ass in the Trick Tower. So I'll give you that, you're quite original. What information?"

Killua tilted his head. "Is it really that easy?"

"I'm an easy guy. No problem with me. Just solutions."

Killua chuckled. "That would help a lot." He parted his legs. "If only you weren't lying."

A wicked grin broke on Elias's face. "Impressive," he commented, moving to the side, mirroring Killua's movements. Killua's eyes never left Elias's, analyzing his posture and his next moves.

Until he disappeared.

Killua immediately swiveled, blocking a punch coming from his left. He grabbed Elias's fists, trapping them in his steel grip until Elias slipped away, like water through fingers. He reappeared a few meters away. "You're not a client," he stated. "But you don't have the feel of a bounty hunter or a criminal. And I'm not _that_ bad for a blacklist to take interest in me. Which leaves one option: a crime hunter."

Killua frowned. His instinct flared up as interest gleamed in Elias's eyes. "You only need to know that I'm no good news for you."

But Elias laughed a cheerless laugh. "I'm aware." He charged again, faster, but Killua caught his foot before it broke his ribs, shoving it away. Elias flew away, kicking the table in the process. But instead of crashing against the floor, he stopped his fall with his hand, swiftly balanced himself, caught the bottle of gin before it crashed on the floor, and threw his legs toward Killua's legs.

With a deft jump, Killua dodged the scythe-like kick. Elias got up in that split second to hurl toward the door. A swear escaped Killua's lips. He focused electricity around his legs. A tenth of a second later, he was blocking the exit Elias had been aiming for. Elias gasped, first of surprise, then of suffocation when Killua gave a strong kick in his stomach, sending him on the floor, away from the exit. Before he could catch his breath, Killua had thrown himself on top of him, trapping his wrists with his steel grip. The bottle of gin rolled away.

A weak laugh escaped Elias's lips. "Too bad… in another situation… that position could have been exciting," he risked through short gasps.

"That's a pity because you're totally my type," Killua said through his teeth, struggling to keep Elias on the floor. He didn't want to use too much strength lest he hurt him and incapacitated him. He needed Elias alive and conscious to answer his questions.

Elias used this slight inattention to jab Killua's right arm with a nen-conjured needle, with a quick flick of his wrist. An overwhelming paralysis followed, the numbness spreading in Killua's whole arm in a single wave. And in that moment, Elias managed to knee him in the stomach, a gesture mirroring his own just a few minutes ago. He then slipped away, leaving Killua on the floor with his paralyzed arm that seemed to weigh tons, running away.

Or so he intended. Killua leaped forward, drawing a circle of electricity around Elias before returning to his previous spot, in a split second. Only then, the circle rose in a maze of lightning snakes controlled by Killua.

Elias gasped at the electric cage, nearly running into the death trap. "The—"

"You should have paralyzed my legs as well," Killua taunted, supporting his arm as he could. He was starting to regain control over it, flexing his fingers to test his movements again, while his other arm remained outstretched to control the flow of electricity around Elias. "Not that it would help you much," he thought aloud, realizing he could as well use electricity to stimulate nervous reflexes over the paralysis.

"Okay, not moving," Elias gave up, raising both his hands, out of breath and sweaty. "I lose."

"At last," Killua mumbled.

A weak smile stretched on Elias's lips, followed by an equally weak laugh. "That's pretty cool. Your ability, I mean."

"Heh, thanks. It's useful when I have to deal with annoying asses."

"I suppose I'm the annoying ass." He tried to move to the center of the circle, careful not to touch the bars of electricity around him. "So, what business does someone as strong as you have with…" he gestured toward himself. "Me?"

"I'll tell you soon enough. But first, I have a question for you." He paused, making sure Elias was listening. "Is this place a decoy?"

Dumbfounded, Elias simply blinked, then grinned. "Not telling." But as Killua glared at him and started to narrow the electric cage on him, he carried on: "Just kidding, just kidding! Geez, I can't even joke anymore." He sighed. "It _is_ a decoy. Do you really think I'm stupid enough to give away my location to the HCDS of all places?"

"Then why are you here tonight?"

"I happen to deal with hunters here. I don't have a good reputation, but I'm still a treasure hunter. And not all hunters who come here want to fry my ass up."

"I just wanted to talk. You fried your own ass when you attacked me."

"Sorry about that, I'm not used to strangers coming for some nice _chitchat_."

"A good liar would recognize one," Killua stated. "You knew I wasn't lying."

"Which makes you a good liar," Elias shot back. "And that's not gonna make me trust you."

Killua walked toward him, minimizing the amount of nen in the cage to save his energy. "I could have killed you approximately twenty-eight times in twelve different ways since I've arrived. If I wanted to kill you, you'd already be dead." He scowled at Elias.

Elias only gave a nervous laugh. "Very reassuring. Now if you could just let me go, I don't feel very comfortable answering your questions in there. Pretty sure I'd accidentally kill myself."

Slowly, the cage faded away, its wire-like links untangling and returning to Killua, electric snakes crawling back to their snake charmer. Elias watched them in awe, much to Killua's satisfaction. He hadn't gotten to use that new technique a lot, so he was quite pleased that he nearly mastered it.

Elias tested the ground, as if to make sure Killua's electricity hadn't caught in the tiles or that the wall had really disappeared, and then he moved toward the table. "Some gin?" he proposed, grabbing two glasses from a broken cupboard and the previous bottle that still lay on the floor. One could even think they were good friends and hadn't just tried to kill each other a few minutes ago.

"Sure," Killua said, arching an eyebrow as he watched him move around.

Elias caught him staring. "I'm not running away," he assured. "I'm not stupid enough to try to outrun a guy who masters lightning."

"Very wise decision, though nothing says you won't try to stab me with one of your tricks."

"Nothing that could permanently save my ass, unfortunately," Elias sighed. "I'd have run since long if I had something."

Killua shrugged, pretending to believe him. Casualness would make him lower his guard. If Elias felt like he was in control of the situation, he would talk more easily. "You're stuck with me."

Elias smirked. "Not that I mind." He gave Killua a glass of gin. "I'm rarely ambushed by beautiful people."

Killua cracked a smile. "You like to play with power."

"It turns me on," Elias admitted.

"Power, or being overpowered?"

A flirtatious smile was all Killua got for an answer. "So, tell me. The sooner I answer your questions, the sooner you'll let me go."

Killua took the bullet from his pocket and handed it to Elias. "I was searching for whoever conjured this. I'm pretty sure it was you. It emits a blinding flash."

Elias took the bullet. He examined it, an air of seriousness back on his face. Almost of annoyance. "It was. But I'm not the one who used it. I never leave unused bullets behind."

"How do you explain that, then?"

Elias shrugged, throwing the bullet to Killua, who deftly caught it. "I occasionally sell my creations. I've got quite a few customers. A customer probably dropped it when trying to use it."

Killua frowned. Elias wasn't lying. "So you don't know who used it."

"I don't."

"Do you know who bought it, then?"

He narrowed his eyes, pensive. "Honestly, I don't. I mean, I'm not the kind to give you a " _why should I tell you?_ " scenario, I don't give a fuck about that. But I don't know. The only customer I got lately for flashing bullets was anonymous."

Anonymous. Again. "What else did they buy?"

"Huh, paralyzing needles, I think. Deafening needles and incapacitating mini-bombs. Mute pills. And sleeping pills."

The whole kidnapping package. "Didn't they come to pick it up?"

"Nope. They asked me to drop it near the St. Aleman church and disappear. They said if I didn't comply, they would kill me."

Killua arched an eyebrow. "You must be quite desperate to accept terms like this."

But Elias simply laughed. "I know right?"

"Were their payment… consequential?"

"It was," Elias admitted. "I mean, I may be kind of stupid, but I wouldn't risk my life with some insane anonymous for no reason. I've got good reasons." He paused to finish his glass.

"Jewels," Killua remembered. "Why?"

Elias smirked. "Are you interested in your mission, or in _me_?"

"You're intriguing," Killua admitted.

"And you're original. I mean, intriguing? That's a new way to flirt."

Killua couldn't help a smile. Elias's wit reminded him of Hana's, in a way. "Back to the topic. I need to know about that anonymous. How did they contact you?"

"By phone."

"Did you note anything about them? Their age or gender, for example?"

"I'd say a middle-aged man, though they could have been using a device to alter their voice."

Killua took a sip of gin. "What number was it?"

"They were calling from a public place."

"Still, give it to me."

Elias groaned. "You make me work." He took a notebook from his pocket, flipping through the pages. "I had written down the place they were calling from, to research it. Ah, here," he said, stopping at a page. "The Delexo Hotel."

A relatively rich person. "When?"

"August 21st, last year. Around 10 P.M..."

Approximately a month before Priman was abducted. "What kind of environment was he in?"

Elias focused, knitting his eyebrows together. "Crowded, noisy. Jazz music was playing. Probably a bar."

To make sure it was too crowded to be noticed. "Another question," Killua started, remembering the reports he had read with Maya. "Do you often take jewels as a payment?"

"Not that often. I go for cash, usually, or I request myself the jewel I want."

"But this time, they presented the jewel to you."

"They did," Elias admitted.

"I take that you have some special criteria for the jewels you take."

"Not relevant," Elias stopped him.

"I'm not gonna ask about your criteria." _I can find a way to know without your help_. "But how did the anonymous know you'd accept?"

"I don't know, to be quite honest. I'm still trying to figure that out."

"They noticed a pattern," Killua tried. "They know what you're after."

"Nah, I don't think so," Elias said, though Killua felt a layer of doubt in his voice.

"Alright." Killua finished his glass. "I'm done. Thanks for the gin."

"And thanks for nearly killing me."

"You almost seemed to enjoy it."

"That's the worst part," Elias joked. "By the way." He put his glass away. "If you're interested in that customer, I could manage to get some recordings of his voice."

A slight frown on his face, Killua swiveled toward him. "You could?" he dubiously asked, though he was carefully listening to Elias.

"Yeah. I automatically record every call I get on my professional phone. For a fairly good price, I could sell what I have about them." His smirk was back. "I could make a special price, just for you. You know what they call that in Françailles? _Prix d'ami_. Friend's price. So?"

Killua leaned forward. "Do you have them with you?"

"Nah. But we can meet later."

"How?"

"I'll give you my number." He took an old GSM phone, one of those that couldn't be traced by the Police. "Not that you need to use it for professional matters only," he added, the same flirtatious glint back in his olive eyes.

"Sounds good to me," Killua replied, the hint of a smirk hanging on his lips. He was about to take his phone when he froze, his eyes darting to the window. "Wait." He tensed, his body instinctively noticing a disruption.

The disruption, a _dart_ , seared through the air. It flew right between them, lodging in the wall beside them. A red LED was flickering on it.

A look of horror crossed Elias's face. "GO!" he just had the time to yell, his eyes wide, soon washed away by a bright flash.

It was the last thing that Killua saw.

* * *

 **A/N:** Muahaha, the meanie cliffie. (Pleaseeee tell me you caught that _Haikyuu!_ reference I slipped in there. Please.)

SO! Tell me what you thought about this chapter! *winks* Did you like the Hanallua moments? What did you think about Elias? About the fight between Killua and Elias? Any thought about the chapter in general? **Did you like that little wink to the title of the story?** *more winking*

 **What was your favorite moment, if there is any?**

I'm always curious to see how you'll interpret what I write.

Anyway, I've got good news concerning this story! See, when I first published it I said I had written ten chapters, right? Well, since then I've managed to write more. I've finally finished writing chapter 11 (the scene I had to write _someeeeehowww_ turned into four scenes, I have no idea how that happened *whistles*), chapter 12 has been ready for quite some time (don't hit me, I don't write linearly) annnnnnnd **I finished writing chapter 13** as well, just a week ago! **I've got this story covered till chapter 13!** And since I'm on holidays, I hope to write more (I've started working on chapter 14 and I have a bunch of scenes written for later chapters). So yeah! There should be regular updates for a moment, unless something happens that forces me to space out updates, but I'll tell you if that happens.

I should stop talking. I talk too much. So I'll end this A/N with a tiny hint on chapter 8: it's called **My ultimate weakness**. I hope that gives you an idea. *wiggles eyebrows*

Bye and see you in two weeks!


	9. My Ultimate Weakness

**A/N:** Hey hey hey! I'm updating a tad bit earlier because I really wanted to update on July 7th (yeah I know it's still July 6th but shh), aka KILLUA'S BIRTHDAY! Wooh! So, **happy birthday Killua** and here's a chapter to celebrate it!

Okay, so first things first, I just wanted to tell you guys that the **loveliest** _ **havanatitiana**_ **drew the loveliest fanart for this story**! AND I AM SO HONORED BECAUSE IT'S SO AWESOME AND I'VE BEEN FREAKING OUT SINCE SHE TOLD ME OKAY I SHOULD TAKE A BREATH AHH! You can check the link here (without the spaces):

es. tiny pic r /2 w2q 792 /9

(If the link doesn't work, check my profile! The link rules are less strict there)

It's a drawing of Hana and Killua KISSING so you can't miss it, and it's SO PRETTY I have to show you havanatitiana's talent and kindness. And to havanatitiana, I wanted to thank you again for this beautiful fanart!

As always, thank you all for your amazing response! I hope you guys will like what I've cooked!

Anyway, I'm keeping this short (ahem, "short")! Go on and read the chapter! ;)

* * *

Chapter 8: **My ultimate weakness**

* * *

 **Saturday, April 4th.**

 **2:13 A.M.**

"GO!" Elias yelled before the explosion washed his voice away. The electric humming died in the room, the cables torn and the lightbulbs shattered by the violent blow. In a split second, Killua projected his En in the whole room to localize the nearest window in the chaos, darted toward it and threw himself through it.

Shards of glass bit his skin, lacerating his shoulders, forearms and thighs while he covered his face. A blast of fire erupted from the window's gaping hole just as he jumped out, the flames licking his skin. He landed on the ground, three floors below, bending his knees and touching the granular surface of the concrete, as if to make sure he really was in the street.

Because well, as convenient as that sounded, Killua could neither see nor hear. He could only rely on his touch, his smell, his taste and his nen. Which most definitely took a toll on his thinning patience.

The air was heavy with dust and smoke above him. He couldn't feel Elias's presence anymore with his En, and could only hope he had managed to escape. He couldn't shout his name either.

Besides, he had a sniper to catch.

Focusing his energy in his nen, he extended his En as far as he could. His perimeter grew, covering the building, and the one next to it, and farther on. He recognized the curving slope of a broken slide in the abandoned playground twenty meters from Elias's apartment, the broken door of a ruined coffee shop at the end of the street, the ruined church a hundred meters from his spot with its demolished ceiling. He reached his limit then, stabilizing the radius of his En. Within a second, he felt a presence in the church, moving rapidly away from it.

 _Gotcha._

He darted toward the church, moving along the bullet's trajectory. They had shot a bullet at him? They would be greeted back with another bullet, except this one was infinitely more dangerous. He didn't need to hear or see to find them.

He reached the church in a split second, reducing his perimeter around it. Two figures were moving right within his radius, but _below_ him. He weaved among the rubbles, searching for a trapdoor. The electricity hummed back as he sensed wires running below him, running far and far in straight lines.

 _Tunnels?_ He thought, startled. That complicated the issue; they could lead anywhere.

He leaped toward the church's tower, retracing his assailants' position. They had to shoot from the equivalent of three floors up, and the tower was the only structure that was still standing. He broke into the tower, focusing on the way the objects felt in his En. He quickly noted a mechanism below one of the slab. He walked toward it, pressing his foot on it until it sank.

 _Bingo._

He jumped, using his weight and his nen to move the slab. It gave way under his strength, letting him pass through it. The first thing he heard when he touched the ground was the slab flipping and hitting the other side. He looked up, his sight gradually returning as well. Two minutes couldn't have passed, which meant the impairment of the mini-bomb was shorter. He focused back on the presences, ready to chase them. He flexed his legs and hurled himself forward.

He seared through the air, tearing the darkness with his lightning. They were moving extremely fast, so far he could almost think they were teleporting, but no matter how fast they were, he was faster. As he moved on, more people added on his En, and he understood that they weren't alone using those tunnels. The Underground market suddenly made more sense, although Killua hadn't thought it could be a literal statement.

He abruptly stopped in front of a crossroads. Three large tunnels forked in different directions. He picked the leftmost one, following their trails. It turned out that he was right when he recognized his opponents' irregular bursts of speed. _Twenty meters_ , he counted, evaluating the distance of their jumps. They were powerful, for sure, but using that technique had to be straining, just as using Godspeed with En was. Yet, he was getting closer to them by the second, and he could almost catch a glimpse of their backs _when_ —

They disappeared. A single burst of fifty meters, away from his En's limit for just _a tenth of a second_.

He flinched, immediately sprinting to where they had vanished. But the time for him to reach the spot, they had simply disappeared. Dissolved. Evaporated. Which left one option: up. His En was less accurate near its limits, and it was more or less shaped like a sphere; that could explain why he hadn't felt them going up.

He cursed under his breath. There were so many presences above him he couldn't tell them apart. All he felt was a single moving and breathing mass cramped in a huge building. He was surely under a very populated area. The perfect place to hide. And there were no more bursts of power, or even any remotely fast movement such as a car. Nothing to tell them apart from the inhabitants. They had stilled among them.

Just one more second and he would have caught them. Hell, _half_ a second.

Annoyance crept upon him. He looked up for a slab that could move, caught sight of a ladder, grabbed it and hauled himself up. He pushed the slab above him until it moved. When the slit was wide enough, he peeked outside and realized he was still in the Centenary, but much farther from the Romaero street. He was in the part that was still inhabited, although in precarious conditions. Slowly, he flipped the slab upward and hoisted himself up.

He scanned his surroundings. The building in front of him was massive. It was dilapidated in many ways, and most certainly wasn't conform to standards, but given the overwhelming flow of presences, there had to be at least a thousand people inside. Including the snipers.

Everything had been calculated. Somehow, the Anonymous had managed to know Killua would come. He surely had spies in the area, on top of having infiltrators in Arashi's mansion itself. Then, he had sent his fastest snipers, which meant he knew about Killua's abilities. And given the ease with which they had navigated the tunnels, they were used to it.

They had escaped.

A long exhale was the only reaction Killua could have at this point. He refrained a wince, the forgotten pain breaching his focus. With incongruous disinterest, he removed the biggest piece of glass from his shoulder, throwing it away. Fresh blood oozed from the throbbing wound, crossing the lines of dry blood down his arm.

A frown creased his forehead.

He would need stitches.

* * *

 **9:36 A.M.**

The bar was calmer than usual on a Saturday morning. Apart from a few regular customers—including Aleon, who was reading a newspaper in a moment of clarity—and a couple of businessmen discussing deals, it was empty. Which was quite fortunate, because Hana was in no mood to deal with her usual share of rude customers.

She was preparing a drink ordered from a VIP suite when Yazel appeared with a plate full of empty glasses. "One piña colada for the table over there," he ordered, placing a piece of paper on the counter.

She flashed a toothy, manufactured smile at him. "Okay, boss. Consider it done."

He arched an eyebrow with his usual disbelief. "Such a bright smile," he finally mumbled. "It's almost sickening."

"It's nearly ten in the morning. You should be awake enough to handle my _"sickeningly bright Colgate grins"_."

"My eyes are too weak for such whiteness." He put a mojito she had prepared on his plate. "You know, I've been thinking about this, but are you ever in a bad mood? It's the kind of things I can't imagine."

"It happens," she said, her carefree tone too trained for Yazel to catch the subtle edge in it.

"I'd be curious to see that. I'll add it to my bucket list, along with _"See a Lunar Eclipse"_ and _"Get the boss to compliment me"_."

She forced a smile through her bitterness, the kind of smiles her closed ones would never have bought, but that sufficed for everyone else. "May the odds be in your favor."

He shrugged and left as promptly as he had arrived. She watched him go with the gloomy realization that he had unknowingly fulfilled one of his bucket list wishes. And that, like a lot of people, he would never know.

After all, how could he know? How could he even suspect it? She was that kind of girls who always looked pretty, wore fashionable clothes, had perfect makeup, painted her nails, smelled good and walked straight. Who always had good hair days. Who said hello to everyone and smiled all the time and laughed easily. Who worked out on a daily basis and ate fruits and vegetables. Who transpired confidence, joy, and trust. Who organized her days, her week, her whole goddamned life, stuck to her schedules and got things done. Who always had something to do or someone to see or somewhere to go.

She was that kind of people who looked like they had their life together.

The key word here? " _Looked"_. Because most certainly, Hana did _not_ have her life together.

And no one was supposed to know.

She let her shoulders drop on that thought, just enough to relieve a bit of her tension. She longed for a bed, some calm, some _sleep_ , but she was well aware that she could have none of that—or at least, not at the same time.

With a discrete sigh, she reached for two glasses to prepare the cocktails. She caught a brief look of her reflection in the sleek counter and wondered how people could buy her act. How they couldn't see her beneath the makeup and the blushes and the jokes. It was so irrational because she was the one who didn't want to be seen, but the frustration was still there. Blaming every single person for not seeing through her perfect mask, for not blowing her impeccable cover. It didn't necessarily help that she was avoiding the only people who would notice the cracks in her grins, the nuances in her voice, the fragility in her eyes. Only they knew better than trust her so-called good mood and take her smiles for granted.

In the end, she was most frustrated at herself, for being an unreasonable, bitter thing.

Yazel came to pick up the cocktails, cracking a lame joke. She managed a smile, but as soon as he was gone, she made herself a shot of vodka. She felt too weak to handle herself and keep grinning, but she had to. At least the alcohol would give her some energy, some warmth. Some shield.

She emptied the shot in one gulp, careful not to be seen by anyone. It was 10 A.M. and she was drinking vodka, surely that would raise some questions. How would she pretend that she was alright, then? She had to keep the façade. If not for people, then at least for herself.

 _Wait till you get home,_ she thought _. Then you can get as miserable as you want. But_ please _, hold on until you get home._

Aleon didn't stay too long this time at the bar. Around noon, he had gone back to his room. Hana hadn't had any new hint about his condition or about this " _he"_ that terrorized him. She had been monitoring him, but there was nothing unusual in his behavior. Not even his occasional nightmares. Since she didn't have any reason to stay now that Aleon was gone, as soon as her shift was over, she left.

Besides, she had other cases to tend to.

She left the hotel after getting changed in casual clothes. She found the parking lot, got into her car and fished inside her bag for her smaller laptop. She opened it and looked inside her planner, where she had detailed all the things she had to do and all the cases she had to work on.

The drug trafficking case was on hold, as she was still waiting for Lynd to request her help. The Whisper was a big no-no, and besides she had to meet Maya to discuss it and close it since Bee Onela would be taking care of it with Allan. Aleon… Well, there was not much she could do about Aleon. She already stalked him in all the possible ways, she couldn't do much more, except perhaps hypnotize him or peer into his brain but that was not part of her many skills. Which left one case to work on.

Vincent Melchior.

According to the reports she had read, he had disappeared around five to six months ago. The interval of time was unsure since he was usually home a few days in a month, which explained why her neighbor wouldn't have noticed his absence or thought it was unusual. She was the one who had alerted the police, though, after hearing "raucous noises" in his apartment. Needless to say, he had never come back.

With a frown, she put her laptop back in her bag and started her car. She fastened her seatbelt, checked the rear-view mirror was in place, readjusted the side-view mirrors, and drove away from the Delexo Hotel.

Vincent lived in the Balia neighborhood, a quite calm and issueless neighborhood. He had been described as a reserved and quiet man who didn't share much about his activities but remained courteous nonetheless. However, he had no trace of a family, no relatives to mourn him or look for him, no parents or children or siblings or aunts or anything. Apart from his neighbor and her children, he didn't have any friend either. He paid his rent in time and his savings were more than decent too, and was living on his pension, as he was retired.

Of course, that didn't make the police's work easy. If no one was there to pressure them into finding him, no one to mourn or love or need him, they didn't have many reasons to keep working on it. All they could do was plaster his face on their board along with all the people who had disappeared after all these years. But Hana wasn't the police, and that was precisely why Lynd had asked her to look into this case.

For a reason. After some secret research, Lynd had found out that most of Vincent's savings came from an unnamed and untraceable bank account, which had raised her suspicion into thinking he was involved in more than the Police could take care of. Vincent's frequent absences and lack of contact had reinforced her suspicion, and Hana had to admit that there was definitely something fishy in that case, or at least, fishier than the simple disappearance of a retired hermit. In her short crime hunter life, the only similar cases she had dealt with involved fake identities or double lives.

Which really wouldn't surprise her.

The Balia neighborhood came into sight after a few more minutes. The contrast with the Pit was impressive. She had always thought that the Balia neighborhood was pretty, but after spending a night at the Pit, it looked like Heaven to her. Rows of small trees bordered the paved streets on which a few old people were walking their dog. It seemed like there was a small park at every street corner, with slides and swings for children. As she drove past a little house, her eyes lingered on a big Labrador crossing a portal with a tiny girl and her mother. She forcefully tore her eyes from the dog, focusing instead on the GPS.

She stopped at a red light, seizing this opportunity to look at her surroundings. All the buildings looked the same, built with the salmon pink bricks that characterized Balia. When the light was green again, she revved and turned right, stopping a few streets away from an old but well-maintained building with ornate balconies. She parked her car, took her bag, and got out of the car.

Lynd had given her the badge to open the front gate. She also had Vincent's keys. She entered the building after opening the gate and found the elevator. A man was already waiting, and she waited until he disappeared to take the stairs to the fourth floor. She checked the numbers on each door until she found Vincent's door. While she silently put the key inside the lock, some laughs and children voices followed by little feet running on tiles resounded through the neighboring door. She listened for a moment, the hint of a genuine smile brushing her face. She then unlocked the door and went in, closing it behind her.

The apartment smelt like it hadn't been opened in months. However, she had expected layers of dust everywhere, but apart from a bit of dust on flat surfaces, it was relatively clean. She thought of her uncle's house in Tanalea, of how he had to clean it every day because of dust and pollen and all the dried earth his children brought in when they came home after playing outside. It would have been drowning under dead insects and dust after months without any cleaning.

She fished in her bag for gloves and wore them. Whoever could be after Vincent Melchior didn't need to know she had been there.

She switched on the lights. The first things she saw were the books that lay in a disorganized pile under the bookshelf. Before going closer, she swept the apartment to catch other hints. The cabinets had been opened, their content also on the floor. The cushion and the couch had been torn open, and cotton was spilling from the gashes in their fabric. There was a clock, too. Plain, unassuming, round. Broken. Whoever had done this mess had also broken the clock glass, and the needles were dangling toward the "6", too limp to point to anything else.

She stepped back, looking at the corridor. Would she find the same mess in the other rooms? She went to the bedroom and saw that the cushions and the mattress had also been ripped open. The drawers, closets, cabinets, shelves… everything had been upturned.

She had read, in the reports, that the Police had noted signs of "disorganized search" that could also be a "rushed escape", but what she saw was more than just a "disorganized search". Either Vincent had run away, or someone had _thoroughly_ looked for something in his apartment. There was no trace of fights, though. No blood, no broken furniture, no hair, nothing. Which, she had to admit, reinforced the idea that Vincent was meddling with fishy business. Only a professional would be confident enough to leave such an obvious mess without giving away any concrete hint about their identity.

With a deep frown, she went back to the living-room. She took a deep breath, conjuring Sae at her wrist. The transparent blue screen materialized next to her, with its usual question.

 **Which mode would you like to use?**

 **1\. S**

 **2\. A**

 **3\. E**

Her finger hovered over the second option. She pressed it, and extended her arm, scanning the first half of the living-room, then the second. Then, just like in Maes's apartment, Sae showed a slight concentration of nen in the second half.

She narrowed her eyes. There it was. She turned toward the area Sae had detected nen in, wondering what could contain nen. There was just the bookshelf, and about… a hundred books lying on the floor? With a grimace, she squatted and scanned the pile of books, praying that the nen didn't come from here. She wasn't in the mood to check every single book for an ounce of aura that made Sae freak out. But fortunately, the books were void of aura. She stood up and sighed of relief.

Since the books were out, that left three options: the armchair, the occasional table with a lamp on top of it, or the clock.

The armchair had no aura on it, just a bit too much dust. Neither did the table, nor the lamp. She stared up at the clock, realizing it was the only choice left, and frowned. What could possibly be hidden in a clock? She unhooked it from the wall and scanned it.

 **Percentage of aura concentration estimated at:**

 **0.3 %.**

That was ridiculously small, but most definitely here. There was something on this clock that contained aura. Where…? She removed the battery cover, but there were no batteries inside. With a frown, she turned it over, examined the numbers and the needles. She focused nen in her eyes in order to see the aura. There was none on the front side, but the back side did show a tiny area with nen, so faint she had to squint to see it and wouldn't have noticed it if she didn't know what she was looking for.

The nen she had found was right in the middle of a sticker. The kind of stickers that gathered all the technical info about the batteries to use, the place the clock had been manufactured in, the components, and so on.

 _Could it be…?_

With her nail, she scrapped the corner of the sticker until it came off. Then, she carefully pulled until the whole sticker came off. It furled around itself, glued to her finger. She put the clock away and unfurled the sticker, turning over so that she was looking at the white side.

 _Gyo._

She flinched.

There it was, the aura.

Numbers, written in nen.

 _Coordinates._

 **43.692697, -85.671930**

She scoured for a pen and a piece of paper in her bag. There was something too uncanny and easy about getting those coordinates; they _had_ to fade away after some time. She had to be quick.

As soon as she was done scribbling the zero of the second number, the coordinates disappeared. She stared at the sticker, in awe after what she had just found. Coordinates. Most likely left by Vincent. Hidden in such a smart way that whoever had been pursuing him couldn't find them.

But she couldn't be absolutely sure Vincent had anything to do with that, even if she was strongly inclined to think so. There was only one way to check: she had to find where or _what_ those coordinates led to.

After a quick scan of the other rooms that revealed nothing, Hana hurried out of the apartment, to her car. She typed the coordinates in her GPS and drove away from the Balia neighborhood.

The Vincent Melchior case was taking an interesting turn.

* * *

The car had been rolling on the highway for half an hour already. She had watched as countless trees flashed past her in a blurry motion, as houses became rarer and people even more. She had seen a sign that said she was near the Riverstorm forest, and judging from her position on the GPS, she would need to go inside to reach the place the coordinates led to.

A few minutes later, while she was wondering about a way to get in the forest with her car, the highway drifted to a smaller road that went downhill with a soft slope. She drove to the small road, realizing it was to ground level, and thus closer to the forest. She kept on rolling as the road pushed deeper and the forest grew by her side in a flash of green and orange, until she found a passage through the trees. She took it, gritting her teeth as her car bumped on a big rock.

The way in the forest helped her get closer to her destination, but she couldn't go deeper with her car. She parked her car in a shadowy place, grabbed her bag and got out. After taking the shovel from her car trunk — you never know, in a place surrounded by earth — she checked her position on her phone's GPS and followed a winding path under arches of trees. She was thankful for her boots since the ground was anything but flat. It weaved among the trunks and she had to avoid the roots that popped and twisted above the ground. "Bridges for fairies" was how she used to call them when she and her mother went hiking, when she was younger.

Nostalgia bit her right at this moment. It sometimes seized her by surprise when she saw something that reminded her of how easy everything used to be. When her biggest disappointments were having to wait till the next day to train with her mother or Allan, and being a hunter seemed like a dream, a goal, an accomplishment. When she used to be proud of herself. A good daughter, a good student, a good friend.

A good hunter.

Where had she gone? The prodigy with her big plans and her bigger ambitions. The promising student taking missions to perfect her skills. The young hunter rising in the HCDS, building her reputation with the help of Allan Fox. _Where was she?_

She had nearly reached the end of the path and swallowed those thoughts right back where they belonged — to oblivion, at least until the next time they would prod her with questions. She had had her golden age, and that time was over. Little Hana was gone and she had been replaced by a walking lie, and a coward with that. That was who she had become, and no amount of whining could bring back the successful girl she had once been. The girl who hadn't suffered on a hospital bed, hadn't run away from the HCDS, hadn't turned her back on her mentor. The girl who hadn't led her friend to his death.

That girl had died with him.

She stopped walking. The path gave way to a small clearing. It was sparsely lit by the sunshine filtered through the tree leaves, with tufts of grass growing here and there.

 _Now what?_

She looked for places where the earth might have been upturned, but there were none, as she had expected. If Vincent had brought anything here, that had to be months ago, before he disappeared. Grass had had time to grow on top of any potential hole. Which left her with Sae as her only solution.

The clearing was small enough to be covered by her En, but her En was less precise when she pushed it to its limits. Since she needed detailed results, she couldn't afford to lose any precision. So, she divided the clearing in nine parcels of earth that she would analyze individually, starting from the middle.

She scanned the first parcel. The second. The third. The fourth. Middle, middle right, bottom left, middle bottom. Nothing, except a few worms and seeds and tufts of grass that her scanner couldn't analyze. She went around the clearing, patiently waiting for Sae to gather all the information she could. Ground composition, temperature, luminosity. The characteristics unfolded one after another, each one another relief for her. She may have lost a career at the HCDS, but she still had Sae. And Sae was hers alone.

Her scanner's results suddenly changed at the top left corner. She flinched when the word "nen" was typed on the screen, a rush of adrenaline enlivening her body.

She quickly dematerialized Sae after checking, just in case, the last parcels of the clearing. Then, she grabbed the shovel she had brought with her and started digging, relentlessly so. The hole was starting to get deep when her shovel hit wood. She cleared the passage, threw the shovel away and grabbed the wooden object. The _box_. Because that was exactly what she had found. A wooden box, big —and heavy — enough to contain a few books. She hoisted it up, kneeling on the ground to examine it.

After a quick scan, Sae confirmed that the nen came from the box. Hana was burning to open it, but if the nen was the same as the one she had found on the clock, it would fade away if she didn't write it down. She couldn't afford to lose any information. She had to bring it back home and dissect it there.

So, she carried the box, her shovel, her bag, and hurried back to her car.

After all these numb days, any flicker of energy was welcome.

* * *

As soon as she was home, she stormed to her workroom. She cleared the table from the rifle she had been studying, the notes she had taken and the screws she had removed, and put the box on the table. She took a hammer from in her toolbox and started pulling out the nails that clasped the lid shut. Then, she tried to remove the lid, but it didn't budge. She groaned, her patience thinning. She bent over to examine the lid in case it had been closed with a special mechanism, but what she saw were intricate patterns carved in the edge of the plank.

Recognition startled her. Allan had already tied a ribbon with similar patterns around her wrist when he had taught her nen, a technique often used by nen teachers to make sure their students respected the instructions. The ribbon always broke when she used her nen—and sometimes exposed her impatience to use nen even after Allan told her to stay still.

She focused her Ten in her hands, her aura coursing through her in a steady wave. The lid instantly gave way then. She put it aside. And peered inside the box.

There was a leather bound journal, first. Rather small, but thick. There wasn't any aura inside, which meant that whatever was written inside wouldn't erase. She put it aside, intending to read it later.

Under the journal, a folder lay, full with papers. But what really caught Hana's sight was the comb hidden in a corner, in a white silk handkerchief. She delicately took it between her fingers, turning it to admire the intricate ornaments carved in the rose gold surface. White pearls traced the edge of the comb, leaves and petals sprouting from them in beautiful swirls of gold. A few ambers dotted the glittering flowers, their shine enhanced by silver sparks all around them.

Hana had never seen such a beautiful comb. It looked like the jewels brides used in their hair on their wedding day, too precious to be used for any other day. She ran a finger on the smooth surface on the back of the comb, until she felt something slightly rugged. Curious, she turned it around and distinguished in tiny letters an inscription. She squinted to read it.

 _For Leanaj, my most beloved daughter._

Leanaj? Vincent's daughter? She frowned. That didn't sound right. She was well aware that Vincent's supposed lack of children could be a lie, but she had a feeling Leanaj wasn't linked to him.

She put the comb on the table, next to the journal, with infinite care. Then, she took the last item in the box.

A letter.

A letter that was the source of all this nen.

She went to her room to fetch her laptop. The small one was still in her bag and she didn't use it to type her reports, and the computers in her workroom were strictly used for monitoring, storing and hacking purposes. Once she was back, she put the box on the floor, opened her laptop and launched a text editor to copy the letter. Carefully, she opened the envelope, making sure to not rip it, and took the letter inside. She focused Gyo in her eyes. And opened the letter.

 _Penelope,_

 _I don't have much time, and when you find this, I might as well be dead and buried someplace with all the others who stood in their way. But this is all I managed to gather. I'm entrusting all these items to you; surely you will know what to do._

 _But please, I beg you… be careful. They're stronger than we are, and my escape was a mere result of luck—my Master wasn't so lucky. They have endless resources and spies everywhere; most likely even within the Police or the HCDS. All I'm sure of is that they're dangerous, powerful, and determined._

 _The comb is what they're after. I don't know why, and I don't know who this Leanaj is, or why it's so important for them. Hell, I don't even know who is commanding and giving them orders. But I've enclosed all the information I could find about them._

 _Be careful. I can't say this enough._

 _I love you, forever. I was blessed to be your friend._

 _Yours,_

 _Gayan._

She stared at her screen while the letters faded away on the paper. In awe, or shocked, or moved, she wasn't sure. Blood pulsed in her temples as she reread the letter. " _I don't have much time… stood in their way… spies everywhere… dangerous… commanding… be careful…"_ The words danced in her mind, rewinding again and again, until she got a headache from it.

Just _what_ exactly had she dug up?

* * *

 **Sunday, April 5th**

 **8:28 A.M.**

Killua had just finished having breakfast when his phone rang. He picked it up, sliding his thumb on the screen before the call ended. "Hello?"

He was greeted on the other side by atrocious noises, a mixture of wind and interferences. He pulled the phone away from his ear, grimacing. Gon's voice finally resonated amid the screeches of the wind. "Killua? You hear me?"

"Ugh. _Ugh_. Gon, where the hell are you?" Killua said, a bit louder so that Gon could hear him.

"Huuh… What?"

Killua pinched the bridge of his nose. The noises on the other side kept going until they abruptly stopped, replaced instead by the low hubbub of a crowd. "You're finally inside?"

"Yeah! Hi!" Gon said.

"You couldn't wait five more minutes before calling me?"

"No. I wanted to show you the Great East winds. What better way to show you than just… show you?"

Killua rolled eyes. "Your eloquence baffles me. So you're in the Great East?"

"Yep. You see that wind? We've had this for a week already, and today it was weaker than usual."

Killua arched his eyebrows. "Damn. Better not be a lightweight."

"I know right? Though nobody goes outside, usually," Gon mused, closing a door behind him. The hubbub stopped. Gon had to be in his room. He plugged something in, and Killua soon recognized the fizzing sound of a boiler.

"Yeah. Nobody. _Of_ _course_."

"Go ahead, say it. I know you're burning to say it."

"Nobody but your _reckless crazy ass,_ " Killua spat. He smiled as Gon laughed.

"Bravo. You said it. Satisfied?"

"Very," Killua said. "So, you haven't told me what you're doing in the Great East."

The boiler stopped on Gon's side, and he poured something in a cup. "I'm chasing Orefoxes! I heard that some Orefoxes bred with wild dogs in that area, and I'm looking for the cubs. Examine and observe them, you know. To add them to the big family of Orefox sub-species."

"Hm. Interesting. Last time you told me about Orefoxes with dwarf wolves. Seems like Orefoxes got some mad game."

Gon chuckled. "True enough. They keep making babies here and there. Though most of the time, crossbreeding is not viable. The cubs are sterile and can't give a new line of species."

"Like mules," Killua thought aloud.

"Yep. What about you? What's new? You're working on a new case?"

Killua reached for the newspaper article he had been reading before Gon called. Something about an _"explosion in the Centenary"_ and _"no bodies found"_. "Yeah. A disappearance. Quite a big deal in the Mafia world here."

"Huh? A disappearance?"

"Yeah. And I'm looking for answers," Killua replied and shifted in his seat, leaning back. "I've got an annoying enemy, apparently."

"How so?"

"They target anyone taking the cases. All the detectives who did are either dead or refused to work on it anymore."

Gon scoffed. "Surely they wouldn't try to kill you. You'd crush them in a split second."

Killua pondered that answer. He thought again of the infiltrator in Arashi's mansion and the spies teleporting themselves in the tunnels. "I don't know, actually. I can't gauge their strength just yet. I just know they have… resources. And ideas. Just two days ago they blew up an entire place because it had evidence of their anonymous transactions."

"Woah. Now that's drastic. Be careful, then. I kinda like you alive."

"Kinda," Killua repeated.

"Yeah, just kinda," Gon laughed. "Anyway, anything new in general?"

"Hmm." Killua paused, thinking of what he could say. A flash of bright green eyes and rosy cheeks brushed his mind, warm and cheerful. And missed. "I met someone," he finally said. But as he was met with complete and utter silence, he reworded his sentence. "I mean, I made a friend. I think."

" _Hmmm_ , really?" Gon asked, and there was an obvious grin in his voice.

"Yes. A friend. Um. A cool person."

Again, Gon stayed silent. "They must be a big deal if you, _magnificent coolest_ Killua, say that they're cool."

Killua snorted. "She. She's a girl."

"What's her name?"

"Hana," Killua said. He liked the way her name sounded in his mouth. An exhale, a melodious sound. "Or well, Hanaiko. But I call her Hana."

"Woah. I wish I had a long name so you could give me cute nicknames too."

"I didn't come up with it. All her friends call her Hana." Killua paused, then smirked. "You do have a nickname, too."

Gon groaned. "I'm sorry, but Gogoon isn't a _cute_ nickname," he argued.

"How so? I found it especially for you. You're so rude. Why won't you love me."

"All that because a baboon jumped in my hot spring," he mumbled.

Killua snickered. He still remembered Gon's face when the baboon's red butt had appeared in the view, before it jumped in the hot spring. A priceless memory that made Killua wish he carried a camera with him. "Gogoon the baboon charmer."

" _Anyway_ ," Gon changed the topic. "How is she? Hana, I mean."

The puppy paw on her neck appeared in his mind. He brushed the thought away. "Talkative. Smug. And loud," he said instead. "She pulls lame pranks and laughs at her own jokes. She smiles and laughs a lot too. And she doesn't eat pizza crusts."

Gon chuckled. "She sounds fun. I like her already."

"You two would get along. I can already picture you telling her all my embarrassing stories," Killua thought aloud.

"Have you told her about the time a tiny goat fell in love with you and followed you around everywhere? When we got lost in the Misiron forest?"

"I did. She liked it," Killua mused. It had been the last time they had seen each other. A week ago. The last time he had even heard of her.

Gon's spoon clinked against his bowl. "You okay?"

"Huh? Yeah, why are you asking?"

"There's something bothering you," Gon said.

"Not really."

Gon made an unconvinced sound. That kind of sounds Killua had classified in Gon's not-buying-your-bullshit category. "I'm not oblivious, Killua. At least not anymore. I now know when you have something on your mind."

Killua lingered on Gon's words. He was right, after all. There was no use denying it when Gon could tell. "The truth is, a week ago, something happened to her. I haven't seen her since then. She's been completely silent. We always saw each other at the basketball court in the big yard, but she hasn't come either. It's like she's shutting herself out."

"And you're worried."

Killua paused for a short moment. "I am," he admitted. "I have a strong feeling that she needs help but is isolating herself. Which would be why she's been avoiding me."

"Why don't you go and see her, then?"

There was a short moment before Killua answered. "I've been considering that," he carefully said.

"But?" Gon said. "Just check on her. That's what you want to do, right?"

"It is. But I don't know. Perhaps I'm just—"

"— getting ahead of yourself?" Gon finished. "You rarely ask yourself this question. Why now?"

Killua frowned. It was twice as frustrating that Gon was right. "It's legitimate. I don't know if she needs time alone or if she is isolating herself. I do have a feeling that she is avoiding help, but I can't be sure. I can usually read people pretty well but sometimes I… can't pin her down."

"Trust your instinct, Killua. It's rarely wrong. If you feel that she needs help and you're willing to help, then go ahead and check on her. You should be more confident in your people skills. You're really sensitive to people's emotions; trust yourself with that, at least."

Killua smiled. For a moment, he wondered why this solution hadn't seemed as obvious as it did in that moment. Gon had this way of untangling complex matters and laying them out in their barest forms. Suddenly, everything was a lot clearer, as though the answer had always been there but concealed behind a thick fog. A thick fog that Gon had blown through with exceptional clarity.

He was the certainty to Killua's hesitation. The "of course!" to his "perhaps".

"I'll do that. Thanks, Gon."

"Glad I could help." A knock interrupted him. He told whoever was knocking to wait a moment. "Anyway, I think I should go. I had told my assistant to call me when he spots Orefoxes."

"I thought no one usually went out in the Grand East Windstorms?" Killua teased.

"Huuuh… Except my reckless crazy ass?"

"Psh. Just go."

Gon laughed one of his cheeky laughs. "I'll call you later, okay?"

"Okay."

"And you go see her," Gon insisted.

"Yeah, I will. It's about time I know if she's fine."

"Good. See you later!"

"See you."

He hung up. Killua stared at his phone for a moment, only later realizing a smile was still hanging on his lips. Talking with Gon always left him feeling light and… happy. No matter the time between their calls, they always connected right where they had left and carried on. Their friendship, which had once been tossed on a bumpy road, had grown into something easy. The easy kind of relationships that Killua longed for. Without any expectation, judgment or taboo. A safe space to communicate. That was something their younger selves had been strangers to, back when their perceptions had been clouded by their youth's inexperience. A twisted family or an absent father weren't the best resources to learn life.

But Gon was right. If Killua had once been oblivious to what friendships were like, it wasn't him anymore. He had gotten so much better at dealing with people, he had to trust himself.

So, he opened the last conversation he had had with Hana and typed a quick message. He sent it and locked his phone, well aware that if she ever replied, it wouldn't be at this moment.

And if she didn't reply, he would need to try something else.

He wanted to help her.

* * *

 **9:05 P.M.**

The cursor flashing on and off on the document. The clock's needle ticking on and on. The fridge motor's low humming. The steam rising from the coffee cup. The pages of the journal brushing against one another when she turned them. Those were the only flickers of activity in her apartment.

She closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. The folder Vincent—or Gayan—had left contained an identity card in the name of Vincent Melchior, as well as a few papers under that same name. There was also a list of names, except none of the people in that list existed, not even in the Hunter database. Which, on top of being extremely infuriating, was just as suspicious.

The comb wasn't so useful either. She hadn't found anything about Leanaj or about a particular rose gold wedding comb.

That only left the journal. She had been peeling it for hours, researching all the places and names she didn't know, but none of them had helped her much. Still, she kept them in a separate sheet, just in case. That "just in case" could be the key to something bigger.

She tilted her head back, taking a pause from her work. She opened her eyes, staring at the ceiling. Her eyelids were heavy, her sight blurry. She could feel the exhaustion numbing her limbs and slowing her senses—she hadn't slept the previous night. She needed, _wanted_ to sleep, for a long time even, but she was too afraid of the nightmares that would creep on her. Feri, in a pool of blood, handing her his bloody heart. The Whisper's hand, with the amaryllis on his palm, extended toward her, slowly, _slowly_ approaching. Feri's mother, wailing, crying, pointing an accusing finger at her. "Why her!" she would repeat, and it was pretty damn convincing because Hana had no possible answer to that. And so many dreams on a stretcher, on a hospital bed, on a bloody floor, in her mother's arms. Screaming, crying, fighting. Coiling and uncoiling. Twisting, snapping. Hurting.

 _The Whisper is back, Hana._

 _And he will come for you._

A chill ran down her spine. She got up to refill her coffee cup, stifling a yawn, and crashed back in her chair.

That was why she couldn't stop working. It was her only tether to consciousness—to _quietness_. At least, when she worked, the reproaches died down and the Whisper vanished. It was an interlude to whatever was simmering in her mind, an alternative to the inevitable that was unfolding before her. And an escape from the nightmares.

So, she stretched her awake time as much as she could, and forced her eyes open with coffee. Or well, not only coffee. She glanced sideways, took her glass of vodka, and emptied it. The burning sensation fired her senses up, and she slightly grimaced. When she reopened her eyes, she suddenly saw better, and focused on the diary again. She hadn't drunk enough vodka to be wasted, but she was most certainly a bit more than just tipsy. It made it easier to forget, to think of something else. That was all she really wanted.

 _Vodka, coffee, painkillers. My body is_ so _gonna thank me_ , she bitterly thought.

Her phone buzzed on the table. She reached for it. It was a message from Thomas.

'Hey, there's a gala in two weeks and Sandy will be performing with her dance club, wanna come? You can invite people too (the more the merrier) (and also we need more people… exposure you know 6_6)'

She breathed in slowly. The perspective of going out with her friend stirred something warm in her, but also petrified her. She didn't want to be seen like this, and Thomas would immediately know if he saw her that she was "doing it again", as he had often said. She locked her phone. She would reply later. He wouldn't notice anything if she took some time to reply; she was always busy anyway.

But as she put her phone back on the table, she thought again of the message she had received in the morning. From Killua.

'Your cat's been missing you. You okay?'

 _Killua._

His name shook a tremor in her chest. Longing for his presence, shame to be seen, fear to be judged. She hadn't been able to reply to him. What could she say? _"Why hello! I'm in the middle of a breakdown and I've been avoiding you the whole week, but fear not, I'll somehow find my way back to the surface with a few more bottles of vodka! Cheers!"_

She tore her gaze from the phone, bending over the journal to finish reading a paragraph. She couldn't say anything. She couldn't break this illusion of the nice girl with no issue who talked too much and laughed a lot. What would he think? Why would he stay? So, she stayed silent. She would just keep spiraling deeper into whatever she had gotten herself in. Was it a bad decision? Probably. Was it a cowardly decision? Certainly. Was it a pathetic decision that reflected just how messed up she was? Absolutely. But would she change her mind? Absolutely fucking _not_.

She had gotten herself in this shit, she would just contain it. That was her burden to carry.

Or so she had planned.

The bell rang at her door. She flinched upward, staring at the corridor, eyes wide with disbelief.

 _Who?_

She wasn't expecting anyone, not even the pizza guy. She had made sure all her duties had been taken care of before coming back home to wallow in that state of questionable self-pity. She had done everything so that no one would come and see her, not even her own best friend. So _who_?

The visitor knocked at her door, and a sense of premonition dawned upon her.

"Hana? Are you there?"

Killua's voice. Killua was here. Killua was outside, knocking at her door, calling her name, waiting for her to open.

He was here.

Panic rippled through her, relief flooded her. It was the strangest combination, and yet the best way to describe that contradicting feeling that she only began to put her finger on. She was barely thinking when she stood up and rushed to the corridor, moved by this small yet immutable need to see someone, to see a friend. She reached the door and grabbed the key and opened and she saw him and breathed in the relief of his presence.

 _He was here._

It was only then that her mind started working again, and she realized what he was seeing. A pale version of herself, tired and blank and hollow. Her relief shrunk, crushed by shame.

"Hi," he said. "I was thinking of dropping by and pretend I was out of flour, but I figured I might as well be honest with you."

She cracked a smile, nodding. She still couldn't believe he was here. She didn't want to see his gaze and possibly his disgust, but she was so startled she couldn't help glancing at him, couldn't help being comforted by his blue eye and his beautiful face. "Hi." She let him in. "Don't stay outside."

He came in and followed her inside. "I was worried," he explained, and the word weighed on her chest. "I haven't seen you in a while and I know shit happened. I wanted to make sure you were still alive," he said. His tone was humorless but she couldn't feel an ounce of reproach in it either.

She sat down while he pulled a chair to sit. "Sorry, I think I just needed some time alone after everything that happened."

"That's not time alone," he calmly argued. "That's isolating yourself, and it's not good."

"That's…" She stopped. He was right. She had nothing to reply.

He sighed. She risked a glimpse at him, but realized with horror that he was staring at the bottle of vodka. "Did you tell Thomas?"

She shook her head. "He's busy. I don't want to bother him."

"What about Lynd? Your parents?" he asked. He was met with the same gesture. "Why not me, then?"

"I… I'm not feeling that bad, Killua. I don't need help."

To which he simply arched an eyebrow. "You're usually better at lying."

She shrugged. She wished for a moment that she could just vanish. Pop! And she would be gone and erase the memory of Pathetic and Uncool Hana that would forever be carved in his mind.

"Hana?" he called her. She looked up, at him, at his calm, his worry. "We're friends, right? I'm not imagining things?"

She jolted. "Of course we are!" she said, louder than she had hoped. The possibility that he could doubt her friendship terrified her. She cared about him, no matter her silence and her distance and her problems. "That's never been a problem, I really care about you, it's just…"

"Then why? Why do you refuse to ask for help?"

She exhaled, slumping back in her chair. "I don't want to be seen like that."

"Like what? In need of help? So you avoid help? To be even more in need of help? What kind of logic is that?"

"There's no logic involved," she argued. "I don't want you to have this image of me so soon after becoming friends with you." She gestured around her, toward the bottle and the coffee and the painkillers she had been taking.

He leaned in. "Friends are friends, with or without issues. You don't need to fill in some form or meet requirements to be my friend. I won't have a better or a worse view of you after seeing you are—"

"Pathetic? Cowardly? Full of issues?" she snapped.

"Human."

She flinched. His words echoed in her mind, her tired mind, the first thing that made sense to her in a long while. She didn't reply anything, instead turning her attention to her hands.

His gaze softened. "Friends are not only friends in good times," he said. "What would you have done if I had been in your place?"

"I would have tried to help," she begrudgingly admitted.

"Good. So now, let me help. Obviously, you have some issues at the moment, and I guess you don't want to talk about them."

She shook her head. "I don't."

"Okay. You need a change of mood then."

She looked at him. "How?"

"Get your ball. Let's go to the court. You need to move and _focus_. Some fresh air, a few tosses and petting your cat will help a great deal, you'll see."

In that moment, in spite of everything she had said, all the reluctance she had shown, all the negativity she had preached during these past days, her face lit up, and she felt a tiny spark of giddiness in her chest that changed so much from the numbness she had walled herself in. She wanted to grab it and treasure it and celebrate this small fickle of energy.

Slowly, she nodded. "Okay. Go ahead, I'll get prepared and follow you."

He stared at her as if he wanted to see if she was lying or not. Then, he acquiesced and went out.

When he was gone, she went to her room. She got rid of her clothes, of the days alone and lonely, of the nightmares and the numbness. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, then. Her dark circles, her dull hair, her pale eyes... They all seemed brighter, suddenly. Warmer, softer, better.

She took a deep breath. She grabbed her jersey and her shorts, her sneakers, her towel and her bottle of water. Before leaving, she filled a bowl with cat food and put on a hoodie, sliding her phone in her pocket.

Once the door was closed and locked, she took another deep breath. Relished in the cold air in her nostrils, in her lungs, the taste of an April night on her tongue.

Then, she left.

She was out.

* * *

He had been waiting for ten minutes at the court. Hana would shortly arrive, according to the text she had just sent.

Killua stared at the portal in the fence, waiting for her to come. He hadn't expected to be that affected when he saw her. And yet, just like her trembling hands, her face remained in his mind. With sleepless nights stretching under her eyes, bloodshot eyes from the lack of sleep, and an odd absence in her glassy gaze. She had seemed so frail. Fragile and lost and perhaps scared.

He thought again of the surgical cleanness in her apartment. The tidiness in every corner, on every surface. Not a trace of a living person, as though she had cleaned and cleaned again to take her mind off her issues.

And the bottle of vodka. Something in the way her eyes had escaped his showed that it wasn't the first time and it wasn't just a glass. A picture flashed in his mind. Hana sobbing, hugging her knees, rocking back and forth, shaking. He closed his eyes, shooed the image away. He didn't need more reasons to feel odd.

When he reopened them, the cat was sitting next to him. He glanced at her as she stared at him with her glowing eyes. "She's coming tonight," he said. He couldn't believe he was talking to a cat. And it wasn't even the first time.

The cat meowed. As if she had understood what Killua had said, she rested her head on her paws and lay down.

The portal grated at this moment. Killua swiveled while Hana entered the court, rediscovering it with awe. Then, her eyes landed on him, and she offered a smile.

He couldn't help smiling back at her. He had missed her. "So? How does it feel?"

She walked closer, taking in the pebbles and the cracks in the concrete and the ivy cascading down the walls. "Delightful," she admitted.

"Good. That's the spirit." He rolled his sleeves up. "Ready?"

But her gaze fell on the bandages on his arms. "Are you hurt?" she asked.

"Yeah, but it's nothing. A mere scratch."

She chuckled. The sound felt new, reviving. "A scratch that needed stitches."

"Still a scratch. I just had some complications after a mission."

"I know the feeling," she commented. "Will you be alright, though?"

"Are you expecting a serious answer? Because all I can think of is sarcasm."

"I take that you're fine," she said. She removed her hoodie and put it on the bench, petted her cat's head and giggled when she nuzzled up her neck. "She missed me!" she exclaimed, caressing her while she put the bowl on the ground.

"She did. And not just for food."

Hana softly pressed the cat's paws between her thumb and her forefinger. "Hello, Pickles."

"Pickles?"

"Yes. I want to name her Pickles."

Pickles meowed, an almost inaudible sound. "She seems to appreciate," he realized.

"Yeah?" She got up to let Pickles hop down. "Did she come every night?"

"She did. I told you; Pickles likes you."

She didn't say anything, staring at the cat while she ate her food. "I feel like it's been years." She stood up, taking a deep breath. She seemed enlivened, her vigor back in her muscles, her light back in her eyes. She faced him, the ball between her hands. Determined. Resolute.

Peaceful.

"I'm ready."

* * *

 **11:12 P.M.**

She was on fire.

Clearly, she had never played that fiercely. Even he had trouble reaching for the ball and stopping her hits. Not only that, but she was fast, flexible, and aggressive in a way he had never seen on her. All her repressed emotions, her choked sorrow, her bottled-up _anger_ were pouring out of her, washing the dullness away. Colors bloomed back in her cheeks, her skin, her eyes. _As it should be_ , he thought.

After a whole hour of endless running and shooting and dunking and blocking and _falling_ ,they finally dropped. Of exhaustion, but also satisfaction.

She was on her back, her eyes stuck on the black sky, though she didn't seem to see anything. And he was lying next to her. Glancing at her. At her damp skin, her rosy cheeks, her hair sticking to her skin. Her lips.

He turned away, wondering how she felt after the wildfire. She had spent enough energy to catch up on all those days rusting on her chair, drowning in a glass, brewing her mistakes. Working, working, working again. Alone. Denying herself the help the needed.

He sat on the ground and dusted his shirt. "Wow."

"Wow, indeed," she echoed, but sounded absent. "I feel so empty. But it's a good empty."

"You consumed all your fury."

"That feels good." She sat cross-legged and rested her elbows on her knees. "You keep surprising me."

"How so?"

"I had no idea that was what I needed. I didn't even know I was angry, and I had no idea how I should handle myself." She caught his gaze. "But you did."

"You spent a week away from your court—your " _baby"_ ," he quoted, and she cracked a smile that warmed him up. "I kinda figured you missed it." He smirked. "I bet you missed me too."

"I did," she simply said. "I really did. I'm so glad to see you."

Warmth turned to heat, butterflies to a wild beating heart. After all the shameless conversations he had had, with her or other people, he couldn't believe he could still get flustered from… genuine demonstrations of affection. "Good," was all he could say.

She chuckled. "You get all shy when I get affectionate. It's cute."

"No."

"If it makes you uncomfortable, I can sto—"

" _No_. I like it. Keep doing it," he interrupted. "I don't get tired of being told I'm the bomb."

She burst out laughing. He smiled, and it hit him, how much he had missed her loud and fruity laugh. "The bomb. Okay, Killua. I'll make sure to keep stroking your ego. Want me to keep going?" she asked as she got up, offering him a hand to help him stand.

He took her hand, welcoming the pressure of her palm, and stood up. "Heh, sure," he said with a cocky smile, and a feeling that she would quickly wipe it away—

"You have no idea how much you amaze me."

—And she did. His heart leaped up, as if it wasn't already fast enough. And while on the outside he kept a collected composure, on the inside he was a mess. "Thanks." He smiled. A crooked, happy smile.

She grinned in response. Neither of them said a word, both absorbed in the moment. That same intimacy that seemed to wrap their silences with comfort. And during that moment, he saw so much gratefulness in her eyes he wasn't sure what to do with it.

But then, she did something he had never expected, let alone envisaged.

She pulled him into a hug.

He stiffened. His mind went blank, which was surely why it couldn't process what was going on. She was hugging him. She was in his arms. _In his arms_. He was completely taken aback.

But after the initial shock dissolved, he awkwardly put his arms around her. And melted. His heart was still racing, but he couldn't help it; he was aware of so many details. As if his whole body answered her touch. Listening. Smelling. Seeing. Feeling. Her body pressed against his. Her cheek against his shoulder. Her breasts against his chest. Her scent; fizzy grapefruit and a hint of sweat.

Her, just _her_.

"Thank you, Killua," she whispered, her voice muffled by his clothes.

He didn't reply. Too moved to say anything. She broke the hug and skittered to take her ball, leaving him with a cloudy head and an unpleasant lack replacing her sweet touch. She took the empty bowl from the floor and played with the cat for a bit. He just watched her, caressing the cat who was rubbing against her.

"Have you had dinner?" she asked. "I know it's late but I haven't eaten yet."

He blinked, still slowly processing what was happening, still getting used to the cold air on his skin. It was the first time he truly touched her, and now that he knew how _delightful_ it felt to hold her against him, it was hard to turn back to their usual friendly distance. "Huh, no, not yet."

"You wanna have dinner at my place?" she suggested.

"Sure, perhaps. Yeah, I mean; yeah."

"Are you okay?" She widened her eyes and jerked upright. "Oh my God, no. I'm so sorry. It's the hug, right? I hugged you without asking first…" she hid her face in her hands. "It was so spontaneous, I didn't even think and oh my God I can't believe I did that, I'm so sorry—"

" _Hana_."

"…"

"I'm okay; stop assuming everything you do makes me so uncomfortable I can't function normally."

"But, but…"

"No buts. I'm telling you I'm fine. I just had your boobs against me for five whole seconds, so give me a moment. Of course I'm gonna be brain-fried after that."

She flushed. "I have horrible tendencies to invade my friends' personal spaces. I'm sorry. I get mushy and I always forget not everyone is as touchy-feely as I am…"

"Well—no. Or yes. Or I don't know. But…" he scratched his nape. "The hug actually felt good," he admitted. "I returned it."

She stared at him. Poker-faced. "Oh."

He cleared his throat. "Okay. Shall we eat?" he said, trying to divert her attention from his obvious awkwardness.

She absent-mindedly nodded. "Okay, we do that."

He stretched, working on his casual demeanor. "Your place or my place?"

She finally looked him in the eye. "My place, as I'd said when you were too busy being _brain-fried_ to process what I was saying," she teased, a seductive smile on her lips.

He shrugged, the gesture so offhand he could almost pretend she hadn't just set fireworks in his stomach. With that killer smile of hers. "The aftermath of your boobs. Couldn't help it. You destroyed me for just a moment."

"Woah. You didn't actually say anything snarky? Didn't think my boobs had _that_ power."

He raised his hands. "You win, Almighty Boobs."

"Hail to the Boobs. Can fry the coolest guy's brain in just five seconds. I can't believe I found one of your weaknesses." She flashed a toothy smile. "What are your other weaknesses?"

"Who talks about their weaknesses?" he rolled eyes, following her back in the building.

"Well, I can tell you. I'm weak for intelligence, sharp jaw, nice bone structure, soft hair, abs, and ass."

"You mean me, right?" His usual smirk was back, along with his calm. He felt more in control of the situation, which, he had to admit, reassured him a great deal.

She pretended to think. "Intelligence? Yeah, so much that you're constantly boasting about it, so check. Jaw? Sharp enough to cut through steel, so check. Bone structure?" Her gaze brushed his cheekbones. "Fuck yes. So, check too. Soft hair?" She cocked her head to the side, pressing the elevator's "close" button.

He leaned in close. His eyes stuck in hers. "Wanna check?"

She held his gaze. "Can I?" He nodded, never leaving her eyes. She tentatively rose her hand, and he followed her eyes. Her fingers brushed a lock near his ear. "Oh my God." She ran her hand through his hair, her touch so delicious. "Your hair is softer than cat fur. I want a blanket of it." She slightly tugged at the roots, her fingertips pressing against his scalp, and tore a shiver of pleasure from him. The thought of her doing that to him every night set him ablaze.

"So? Soft hair?"

"Soft hair. Definitely." The elevator stopped and they walked to her apartment. "What about the rest?" she asked as she closed the door, after they removed their shoes.

"Ass?" He walked in and turned around. "Please. Look at that _ass_."

And look she did. Biting her lower lip to suppress a grin, crossing her arms. "Holy shit. Okay. Check. You do have a very sexy ass."

He sauntered to the living room, way too satisfied for his own good. "I know, right? A guy once told me it was _callipygian_."

"That's a very nice compliment. Please, tell me he got some later."

"Oh, he did. I blew his mind—not just his mind, actually."

She giggled. "I can't believe you just made a dirty joke." She went to the kitchen. "So you play in both fields?"

"I play in more than two fields." He leaned against the wall, watching her take a bowl from her cupboard. "Everyone is welcome."

"Sweet. So many options."

"I know right? So many hot people." He stood straight. "Only the abs left in your weaknesses list, right?"

She glanced at him. "Killua, I don't think I can handle that much hot in one night."

He tugged at the end of his shirt. "Are you sure? That's a once-in-a-lifetime chance. The guy who said I had a callipygian ass told me my abs were _sculpted_."

She bit her lower lip, again, her eyes plunged in his. "Do it."

His smirk grew predatory. He slowly lifted his shirt, and with each inch of exposed skin, her eyes grew wider, her cheeks redder, his heartbeats faster, his satisfaction bigger. And the dangerous heat, the magnetic pull between them, the somersaults stirring in his stomach, bouncing back and forth. "So? Abs?"

"I— um. I have no complaints."

"I guess I'm your ultimate weakness."

She forcefully tore her eyes away from him—but kept glancing back at his abs. "Okay. Yes. Perhaps."

"Brain-fried?"

"Absolutely. I'm way too turned on right now."

"Happy?"

"No!" she laughed. "This is so frustrating. I'm really not a fan of look-but-don't-touch."

"Who said you couldn't touch?"

"Oh no, no, _nooo_. I might self-combust on the spot."

He burst out laughing, readjusting his shirt. "Okay, I'm gonna cut you some slack."

"Please, do. I haven't been with a guy in three months."

"What are you implying?"

She washed her hands and put a few tiny carrot sticks in a bowl, offering them to him as appetizers. "I'm implying that I miss sex."

His interest flared up. The word sounded raw in her mouth. Deliciously so. It ripped a shiver from him. He thought again of the picture that had flashed in his mind a few minutes earlier, of her tugging at his hair in his bed. It taunted him again, with her arched neck begging to be kissed. A fist of desire near punched him in the stomach at the thought, and he forced himself to focus on the carrots. "You don't need a relationship for sex," he said. "Or even a partner, for that matter."

"I know, but I miss… a partner, precisely. It's different. Intense. Though none of my one-night stands could give me that."

"I didn't miss the plural there," he teased, leaning against the counter.

"Shh. Let's talk about your weaknesses instead. You haven't answered my question yet."

"I never said I would tell you," he argued.

"It's only fair after I told you mine."

He licked his lips, the shameless smirk back on his lips. "How about you strip and we find out?"

She rolled her eyes with a playful smile. "Well, I know you're weak for boobs. And judging from the way you stare at my ass when we meet in the morning, I guess you're an ass kind of guy as well."

"Woah, you noticed?"

She arched an eyebrow. "Of course I did. I was wearing tight jeans on purpose. So? What's next? Your weaknesses?"

He bit a carrot, glancing at her. "Graceful neck. Bright eyes. Tall height. Muscles." _Dorky jokes, loud laughs, warm smiles_.

"Muscles?" she flexed her biceps. "These?"

"Nice," he commented. "Nice arms."

"I have abs, too," she added, serving two glasses of water.

"Yeah?"

She removed her jersey shirt, leaving only her black sports bra.

(The sight was blissful. He wished he could run his fingertips on the curve of her waist.)

"They're not as impressive as yours, but they're cute abs," she said.

He nodded in an appreciative manner, his eyes wandering over a few beauty spots scattered on her stomach. He surprised himself, again, wondering how her skin would feel under his lips, how his mouth would bump on her small abs, on the line from her chest to her navel. "Cool. I admit, I'm weak for those," he said.

She ran her fingers along her scar, her expression slightly darkening. "It's kind of a pity it's barring my super cool abs."

He followed her eyes, followed the path of jagged, puckered skin. "Why a pity?"

She rested her hand on her scar. She remained silent for a moment, avoiding his gaze. The heat died then, replaced by something much more solemn. "It took me so long to accept it. And now he's back. I feel like it all went to waste."

Her sudden confession rocked through his chest, leaving him with a lump in his throat. And yet, at the same time, he felt relieved; she was opening up to him. "The time you spend recovering is never a waste."

"You think? Even if I do stupid things all over again?"

"Why are you so certain you will do stupid things?"

She looked down, a humorless smile on her lips. "Because I'm a fucking mess."

He gently brushed her chin, tipping her head up to look her in the eye. And he saw it then. Beneath her tough armor, her faked calm, her whole act of composedness. Beneath the jokes and the smiles and the layers of pretense around herself. He saw her distress, and it rippled through him. "You need help. That's why your friends are here." He waited, just a moment, to let his words sink in. "Including me."

She stayed quiet, but he didn't know how to interpret her silence. Then, she grinned. Genuinely so, but a barrier was etched into her smile. He knew then she wouldn't say more. "I'm weak for that, too," she finally said and walked away toward the fridge.

He faced her, confused. "What?"

She looked deep in his eyes. "Killua, you _are_ my ultimate weakness."

* * *

 **A/N:** Wooh. Things got a tiny bit hot. I'd warned in the prologue that I loved dirty jokes… well, here's a beginning.

What did you think about the chapter? About the Hanallua interactions? About Gon and Killua's moment? About Hana's case? Things are getting interesting. I'm impatient to show you the answers. You might feel like nothing's linked but... *evil laugh*

What was your favorite moment?

Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter! Tell me what you thought in a review ;)

Next chapter will be named **Constellations** and is kinda fluffy. For those of you who've been on **poisonedamaryllis** , the story's Tumblr, or on my blog, you might have noticed I've posted excerpts from Chapter 9 some months ago. I know I said it was an excerpt from Chapter 8 but that was a mistake; it's from chapter 9. And well, for those of you who don't know, **there's a fluffy excerpt from the next chapter to catch on my Tumblr (tag: my writing) or on** _ **poisonedamaryllis**_ **(tag: excerpts)**.

Okay, I'll stop talking now. Thank you all again for your support and see you next chapter!


	10. Constellations

**A/N:** "Weeeee it's update day!" Says the author who is way too happy to update, probably happier than any of her readers.

But who cares! I'm happy! Hey guys! I MISSED YOU!

I know this is technically chapter 9 but fanfiction dot net is marking it as chapter 10 so YAY TEN CHAPTERS! I'm so happy. So, so happy. One year ago I was so doubtful about this fic and my writing in general, and now I'm here. I have such a long way to go but I'm happy for this tiny progress of mine.

 **Okay, time for some "news":**

First, to all the people who couldn't access the link to _havanatitiana_ 's lovely fanart, I found out why! Fanfiction dot net has pretty strict regulations for links in chapters, so until I find out how to make the link appear without being erased (I suppose brackets could help? Anyone knows?) so **I put all the links to the fanarts/drawings I made on my profile** anddd you can copy them here!

Second, **I just finished writing chapter 14**! It's still the first, roughly unedited version, but it's still something (and it's big lol). A part of chapter 15 is also written.

As always, a big thank you to all the sweet people who favorite, follow and read this story, who follow me on tumblr and send me messages and reviews! I love all of you readers, silent or chatty, because every little view on the traffic graph counts and makes me happy. So thank you!

 **To the lovely guest who left a review to the last chapter:** Thank you so, so much! I'm so glad you liked the tension and Gon's scene! And thank you for the feedback—you rock! I hope you find money on the ground and then eat your favorite dish!

Anyway, I'm gonna stop talking and let you read the chapter. Just one minor mini-spoiler to reassure you: there's no cliffhanger.

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 9: **Constellations**

* * *

 **Monday, April 6th**

 **9:20 A.M.**

The Delexo hotel was the first obvious stop to Killua's investigation. If Elias hadn't lied, which Killua was sure of, then the Anonymous had called from there. It was very likely that the caller's identity had been hidden by the hotel since VIP customers were offered absolute privacy about their transactions and calls with the hotel's services.

But there was hope, because the billing was directly linked to the customers' bank accounts, so Killua figured it couldn't be impossible to figure out their identity. Not necessarily through legal means, but he didn't care, especially with a lawless opponent.

His thoughts drifted towards Elias then, as he got into the elevator. He wasn't sure he had survived the attack, but if Killua was right, then the explosion had been caused by one of Elias's weapons. It wouldn't be too farfetched to assume he had survived. Where was he, then?

His thoughts were interrupted by someone calling his name, just as he was about to cross the gate. He turned around and saw the janitor waving a piece of paper. "Oh, hello. Anything wrong, Ms. Sora?"

"Ah, Killua! I've been waiting for you all day," she explained, even though it was still morning. "There's a package for you, it arrived today."

"A package?"

"Yes. It's too big, so it didn't fit in your mailbox. Are you in a hurry, or can you pick it up?"

"Oh, I can. I'll take it upstairs."

"Great, that would help. I don't need more boxes in my storage."

He refrained a scoff, following her to her office. He waited while she looked in her storage, his eyes wandering over the photos she had hung on the wall. It was hard to imagine her as a sentimental person, given how gruff and unpleasant she was. Yet, these photos had no professional edge to them.

One photo, in particular, caught his attention. He found himself instinctively walking toward it, examining its familiar benches, its tall fence, its hoop with the red borders. Only, the benches were full, the fence wasn't covered with vines, and the red paint hadn't cracked on the edges. A few youngsters were even playing on it, and the photo had been taken right when one of them dunked a ball in the hoop.

"Ms. Sora?" he called right when she came back. "Is that the court in the back yard?"

Her sullen expression brightened, if only for a second. "It is. Back when it was still used. That was at least twenty years ago," she counted.

"Oh, okay." A question prodded his curiosity. "I had heard it would be destroyed some years ago. Was that true?"

She glared at him. "It had been planned."

"What happened?" he insisted, even though he could see she didn't want to even mention the potential destruction.

"A petition." She scribbled something on her transcript of received packages. "There was a girl who was strongly opposed to the destruction, so she made a petition against it and won."

 _A girl_. "Hana," he guessed aloud. Surprised by the pleasant revelation.

She abruptly stopped writing. "Yes, her." Her gaze softened. "Are you a friend of hers?"

"I am." He signed the notice the mailman had left with her. "Are _you_?"

Ms. Sora smiled—a sight Killua had _never_ seen—and handed him his massive package. "I've known her since she's a tiny girl. She would come here every day; her grandma lived down the street. She bribed me with candies to let her play on the court," she reminisced with a maternal tone.

A smile brushed his lips. "That sounds like her."

"Right?" She chuckled, yet another brand new sight for Killua. "I'm glad she found someone to play with." She patted his shoulder. "Tell her hi. Now go."

He barely had time to reply that she had already closed her office, leaving him with questions and puzzles of Hana's childhood. And, well, the massive package.

Killua took the elevator, his mind wandering back to Hana and the court. _Her_ court. Now that he knew she was behind the court's salvation, it seemed almost obvious to him. Who else would have cared enough to deploy such great efforts? To scour the whole building, perhaps even the neighboring houses, and knock at every door to convince people to sign her petition? To do that every day on top of managing criminal cases and a personal life? And who else would have had the guts, the means, and the skills to do that? The determination, the confidence, the motivation and the _smile_ , her trump card—and definitely one of his weaknesses?

Hana. It could only be Hana. And the more he thought about it, the more he wondered just how much she would keep surprising him.

The elevator halted with a light _ting_. He walked to his apartment, closing the door with his foot after struggling to unlock it. It was only when he put the box on the table that he saw who had sent the package.

 _Gon Freeccs_.

A grin took over his face. Gon had sent him a huge package, and God only knew what he had put inside. All Killua knew was that it had to be quite grand, because Gon wasn't the type to half-ass anything.

Killua tore the tape to open the package.

The first thing he noticed was the number of objects. The box was full. As in, Tetris-full, with every side and every angle occupied by a smaller box, a book, a plastic bag with food inside, and so on. He started going through the items, his grin widening with each object he found. Photographs of places Gon had visited, of Gon with villagers, of animals Gon had discovered or healed, of dishes Gon had eaten. Spices from the Grand East and the villages of the Tawny Valleys, herbs from Tona Riva, sweets and cakes and syrups from Lebeni and the Sugar Snows, dried grapefruit from Tanalea. Souvenirs from all the places he had been to; drawings, statuettes, books, postcards. Tawny fabric from the Tawny Valleys' artisans, wool from the Great East's Titan Mountains… There was even a nutcracker painted in bright blue, a specialty from North Tona Riva.

And a small handwritten card, deep inside the box.

 _See, I'm taking you on a trip with me!  
Enjoy (but not too much),  
Gon_

 _PS: do_ _not_ _drink the atyr…_

He laughed at the post-scriptum. He was well aware of what atyr was, but it had become an inside joke between them ever since they had been to Lebeni together for the first time and Killua had tried to serve himself a glass of atyr.

"You can't drink that," Gon had hissed then, casting looks around him as if to make sure no Lebanese person had seen Killua pour the atyr in his drink. "It's literally _sugar_. Just sugar syrup."

"Sugar syrup?" Killua had repeated with an excited glint in his eyes. " _That's_ your argument to stop me?"

He smiled at the thought. _You're never gonna forget, huh?_ He thought, his grin softening when he looked at all the objects on his table, all the times Gon had thought ' _Hey, Killua would like that!_ ' during his journey. He had even remembered about the white musk perfume Killua had loved when they had visited the Tawny Rivers, the twin city to the Tawny Valleys. Killua was pretty sure he had only mentioned it once. His own white musk perfume was almost empty—and it was nowhere as delicious as an original white musk perfume from the Tawny Rivers.

He took the small bottle of white musk, spraying some on his wrists and his neck. Then, he took his phone, snapped a picture of his table covered with Gon's presents, and sent it to Gon.

'I wonder who's responsible for that,' said the text. 'I'm so impatient to drink that atyr. (thanks Gogoon, you're the best-est)' with a thumbs-up emoji—and a star, because Killua liked stars. When he was sure the text had sent, he slipped his phone in his pocket and left his apartment. He wasn't grinning anymore, but he still felt the smile in his whole being.

Just as if he had swallowed sunshine.

* * *

 **10:38 A.M.**

The bar was loud when he arrived. He hadn't intended to come there at first, but he had figured that if he went to the Delexo hotel, he might as well check if Hana was there. Besides, he needed to ask her something, as he had realized on his way to the hotel.

Hana was indeed there. Making cocktails at the counter, alone. He had barely seen her that his heart missed a beat. He had never noticed how good that button-up shirt looked on her, with its sleeves rolled up to her elbows, or how much that hairstyle suited her, with the free lock that moved with her head. There were too many things he had never noticed, and he was starting to get overwhelmed, now that he did.

Her face lit up when she saw him—such a strain on his heart. "Hey there!" she greeted. She still looked tired, and part of him wondered if she had slept much, but she looked genuinely good.

"Hey. What's up?"

She motioned toward the counter. "I work, unlike _some people_."

"Heh, I came here for work, actually."

"Oh? Meeting a client?"

"Nope. Questions."

She tilted her head, the same alluring gesture that discovered the obsessing puppy paw on her neck. "Do you need help?" she asked, more seriously.

He sat down. He had come to the hotel to possibly get hints about the Anonymous who had called Elias, but the process would be long. People didn't usually remember their clients from months ago, and if it didn't raise suspicion, then it would most certainly spread the knowledge that he had come to the Delexo hotel and that he knew about the call. Which was why he needed Hana's help: surely she knew who was the right person to go to. "I do, actually." He lowered his voice. "I need to trace back a call made six months ago. But I can't ask just anyone; I'm dealing with a resourceful enemy. Do you know who I could ask?"

She frowned, pondering his question. "You can't trace back calls made by VIP clients, and I'd say that'd be your enemy's profile." She hung a glass above her. "The Hotel provides anonymity to its VIP clients. Even the Police doesn't have access to them."

"So there's no way to know who called?" he continued.

"That's not what I said." She leaned in close. "You need to hack their database." She took another glass to dry it.

"So it's possible," he said to himself. "I know a hacker hunter, but they told me their boss seemed wary lately." Ophelia was rarely worried about what her boss might do. If she had told him she needed to stay discrete, it didn't mean good news for her. "I don't think I can ask for their help. Do you know anyone trustworthy?"

She shrugged. "Depends. Do you consider me a trustworthy person?"

His jaw nearly dropped. "You can hack their database?" he said in a low voice.

She flashed a proud smile. "One of my many skills," she replied. "Not even the best."

"Okay, that's… really cool." He nodded with appreciation. "I'm lucky."

"You are, to be honest. Come with me once my shift is over. I'll see what I can do for you."

"Thanks," he breathed. He couldn't believe he could be so fortunate. "Tell me what I can do in exchange."

"I don't need anything in exchange, but I appreciate the offer."

He smiled. "Could I get a Special, by the way?"

"Sure."

He put the coins on the counter and watched her mix the drinks together. "You make awesome drinks, kick ass, rock tight shorts and flower dresses, play basketball _and_ hack databases. I can't believe you're that cool. You're practically forcing the compliment out of me."

She gave him a strange, confused look. "Wow, chill. I'm not used to you complimenting me. It's disorienting," she argued. "Please call me a nerd again, so I know it's you."

"Oh, you're still an annoying ass nerd. But a cool one. The whole hacking thing? You just became ten times hotter thanks to that."

She tried to shrug off his compliment, but she was clearly liking it. "And you haven't even seen me on the field. A walking supernova."

"Too hot."

"Hot damn," she sang, wriggling her hips while she added her final touch to the Special.

He groaned. "Okay, you just lost ten hot points."

"Call the police and the firemen," she kept going, making that face she made every time she knew she was being annoying.

A server arrived at this moment. " _No_ ," he simply said, interrupting her singing. "Anything but _Uptown Funk_."

"You are so rude, Yazel," she whined.

"Is she always like that?" Killua asked while the server named Yazel removed his plate's content on the counter.

"She's worse," Yazel replied, taking the cocktail she had just finished. "Don't trust her. She's the kind of girls who will sing the most annoying gum commercial song in a loop _just_ so you have it in mind the whole day."

"That's not even true," she fought, even though her cheeky smile was betraying her.

"And don't get me started on Disney songs!" Yazel continued, widening his eyes at Killua. "I've had _Make a man out of you_ every day for a week, a month ago."

"Let's get down to business—" she started, swirling around to grab two glasses for her next cocktails.

Yazel groaned. "Okay, bye," he interrupted her and strode away, casting one last glare at her while she snickered behind the counter.

"A friend of yours?"

"Yeah. He's cool."

"Poor guy. I feel bad for him," Killua commented, amused.

"I have no idea how he bears with me, to be fair with you."

A customer sat a stool away from Killua. While Hana greeted him and took his order, Killua thought again of the picture in the janitor's office, of the court, of the things she had told him about it and about Hana. A picture of a tiny Hana with a missing tooth and hands full of candies popped in his mind, one of the many pictures on her Wall of Fame.

"I didn't know you were the one who'd saved the court," he said once she was done with her customer.

She swiveled, surprised. "Who told you?"

"Ms. Sora."

She stared at him, unflinching. "Oh."

He studied her expression, trying to understand it. She was frustrating sometimes because he couldn't always read her, and he was used to excelling at reading people. "You never told me."

She shrugged. "I don't go around saying things like this all the time."

"I did ask you why it hadn't been destroyed. You _chose_ not to tell me."

She dried a glass and hung it above her. "It's not something to boast about."

"You saved the court, how is that not something to be proud of?"

She looked at him this time, and something serious had lodged in her gaze. "Nobody liked this court. I saved it for myself." She looked away. "It was selfish."

"I gotta thank that selfishness, then. I like this court," he said.

She finally smiled. "At least it got me a friend." She blinked, her cheeks taking a rosy hue. "I like it. Calling you my friend, I mean. It sounds right."

A smile played on his lips. She always had these random bouts of affection that came from nowhere, and it always took him aback—in the best ways. He liked the sound of 'friend' from her mouth. Like it was new and precious. "Of course it is, you dork."

She grinned. "What's that perfume, by the way? I can't seem to put a finger on what it is," she changed the topic.

"White musk. A gift from Gon."

"It smells really good. Soft and raw. Suits you really well."

"One of your weaknesses?" He smirked. The memory of her naked back popped in his mind. His ultimate weakness.

Seduction laced in her gaze. "I'd need to smell it in your neck to know."

"Oh?"

"In the neck, on the wrists, behind the ears. That's where you wear it for a sexy effect. In your cleavage, too, if you have boobs."

"Nice. You know a lot about seduction."

"That's basic. I can show you better things," she teased, the smoky edge back in her gaze.

"Whenever you want."

She chuckled, then changed the topic. "By the way, my best friend, Thomas, invited me to a gala on Sunday 19th and he said I could invite people. Would you like to come?"

"A gala?" he repeated. He liked the perspective of going out to a party with her and meeting her friends.

"Yep. As in, formal wear and all." She grinned. "There'll be food. Tom's sister will be performing."

"Sure. That sounds cool."

"Awesome. You'll meet Thomas and his boyfriend June. They're so cool. But don't tell them I said that."

He pretended to zip his mouth shut. "Not telling anyone."

She crinkled her nose. "And while we're at it, I wanted to make a dinner on this Saturday. As in, cook something. And you are formally invited to this dinner."

"I'm free." The corner of his lips faintly quirked up. "Thanks for the invitation. I'll be there."

"There will only be us. You and me." She gave a cheeky smile.

 _Too effective_ , he thought. "I wish I could be you, so I could be alone with someone like me too."

"It's quite an experience," she admitted, instead of saying something snarky.

"How so?"

She didn't reply, her lips still stretched in that same insufferable cheeky smile. "My shift ends at 1 P.M. by the way; we can go to my place afterward so I can check what you need."

He held back a sigh. She had this way of messing with his brain when she said those suggestive things and refused to explain. His imagination was a messy place when it came to her. "That would help a lot." With a single gulp, he finished his drink and got up. "I'll come back at 1 P.M.; I'll take care of something else in the meantime."

"Alright. See you!"

"See you."

* * *

 **2:07 P.M.**

"The process of getting into the hotel's database will be fairly quick since I've already hacked it before and I have a sort of backdoor in the database."

Killua nodded, not quite sure about whether 'backdoor' was a technical term or just something she had come up with. They had just arrived at her apartment, after having lunch together at the hotel, and she was serving two glasses of homemade lemonade for them.

"What will take more time is getting the encryption key to decrypt the files I'll find," she went on.

"Are they all encrypted?"

"Not all of them," she said, putting the bottle of lemonade back in the fridge. "But VIP clients' calls and actions, in general, are kept secret in encrypted log files. That's how they ensure anonymity."

He frowned. "Wouldn't the key have changed in six months?"

"Oh, it has. I think it changes every month or so to avoid security breaches, but so does the encryption itself, or else it would be impossible to exploit the log files. When they say 'anonymity', they don't include admins who do have access to the files, just in case something happens."

"Wouldn't it be easier to make the admin decrypt the file?"

"We could do that," she confirmed. "That would be social engineering, and that's pretty much how I stole his password some time ago—I can pass as a decent technician. But even he doesn't know the key and convincing him to decrypt a file made six months ago will be hard. He can just access the files."

"Right. That was a dumb question," he admitted.

"Nah. There are no dumb questions."

"Haven't there been leaks before?"

"I believe there was a rumor of a corrupted admin selling data to some Mafia leader, two years ago, but he suspiciously disappeared right after that. I think it was the last time it happened."

"… Drastic." He took a sip from his glass. "I trust you on this anyway. You know more about this than I do anyway."

"Everyone's got their thing." She emptied her glass in one go. "Okay, shall we work?"

"Yep."

He followed her down the corridor to her room, only then noticing that she wasn't going there. Instead, she went to the far end of the corridor, to a room he had never been to before.

"My workroom," she introduced as she switched on the lights.

The room was about as big as her bedroom, and he guessed that it probably used to be a guest room.

His eyes fell on the rifle sitting on a table, in the middle of the room. A few screws and tools lay on the table in a semi-organized way, on top of some notes. He recognized her bubbly handwriting, with some rough drawings of the rifle and its internal system.

"A rifle?" he asked while she sat on her desk chair. He hovered near it, inspecting her precise notes. Length, depth, solidity, composition… She had dissected this rifle.

She swiveled, tucking her knees under her chin. "Yep. I'm trying to see how it works."

"Why?"

She gave him a cryptic smile. "It's for my ability."

"You're a conjurer, right?"

"Yep."

"You're aiming to conjure one?"

"I'm conjuring different parts, to begin with. It's a long process. But it helps when I dismantle an actual rifle to see how it's built." She crossed her arms. "I had actually conjured and built a first rifle but it exploded when I tested it. It wasn't solid. So I'm trying to improve it—and I'm actually getting somewhere after my third attempt."

"One more thing to add to your numerous talents." He took the chair she was showing him. "Rifle plus weapon conjuring plus weapon dismantlement? Fifty hot points."

She chuckled. "Fifty points to Gryffindor."

"Nice." He nodded at her. "One more thing in common with me."

"Being hot or being Gryffindor?" she asked.

"Both. Both alright."

She turned toward her computer, after scrunching her nose—a lovely sight, he thought. She had such a… poke-able nose. "Ready to hack?"

He moved his chair closer. "Go."

She launched a terminal and started typing a command. "I'm gonna find the IP address of the hotel and telnet my way into it—that is, remotely access it from my computer."

He absent-mindedly nodded, focused on her work. He liked watching people work, even if he didn't understand everything. "I'm no expert, but why are you using telnet so many times?"

"Footprinting. I telnet toward some computers in the same network to hide my steps. There's always the risk of exposing myself, so I have to be careful. Scrambling your IP and footprinting are two common measures."

As he leaned on his elbow, he watched her fingers move on the keyboard. To think that she was currently hacking a secure database with a few words typed on a screen… Technologies were such a wonder.

The command window suddenly asked her for a login and a password. "You're there," he noted.

"I am. Just a few minutes and I'll look for the file."

His eyes were riveted on the screen. Symbols and letters all the same unfolded before him, none of which he really understood. Until she disconnected. "You're done?"

"I've got the files." She opened another window. "Now I need the key."

"How will you take it?"

She shyly smiled. "I wanted you to ask this question so bad." She loaded a file on her new program —Matlab was how it was called. "Some years ago, a few scientists discovered that it's possible to steal an encryption key by analyzing the high frequencies emitted by your computer's CPU. I believe it took some time, but the technique has been studied and improved by hacker hunters who have sped up the process. It takes a few hours now for the program to detect the frequencies, parse through the signal with a high pass filter and recompose the key. It needs to iterate quite a few times to minimize errors—especially that we'll have some information loss since the frequencies will be caught through a detector I installed near the admin's computer."

He blinked, slowly. "I didn't understand everything, but I got the gist of it, I guess. It sounds quite… genius?"

Her smile broadened. "That's not all." She patted her computer. "I've got a friend, a hacker hunter, who's specialized in conjuring electronic components and computer parts. He focused all his nen ability in that. _He_ is a genius. He built this computer for me in exchange for a mission. Which means that it's a lot faster than a regular one."

He arched his eyebrows. "How fast?"

"An hour, instead of at least five." She crossed her arms, victorious.

"Impressive," he commented, staring at the seemingly normal computer. So unassuming, for a supercomputer built a by a genius hacker hunter with a genius ability.

"I know!" she exclaimed, excitement shining in her eyes. "He's so cool." She glanced at the program. "We've got an hour now, before the results." It wasn't long before she stood up. "You want cookies?"

"Sure," he said. They had barely eaten—and _had_ had a dessert, with that—but could he, Killua, really refuse cookies? Tiny holy pastries should never be rejected.

In a minute, she had gone to the kitchen and come back with a jar of chocolate-chipped cookies. She moved a folder and a leather diary from the desk, putting the jar on the spot she had just freed.

He saw it, then. In a white piece of silk, a comb. He reached for it, a delicate rose gold jewel with pearls and gems. He turned it in his hand, moved by something raw and instinctive.

A picture flashed in his mind.

 _Bloody hands._

"Killua?"

He flinched, darting his eyes to her. He put the comb back where he had taken it. "Sorry, I just felt like I had seen it somewhere."

Her eyes widened; with hope or surprise, he didn't know. "If you know where it comes from, _please_ tell me."

But he shook his head. "I think I was imagining things. I don't remember seeing a comb like this anywhere. I'd have remembered."

 _Bloody hands. A rose gold comb._

"It belonged to someone named Leanaj. I can't seem to find anything about her," she explained, her eyes on the comb. "I just know that some people are after it."

He frowned. "Things could get dangerous if they find it with you."

"They won't. At least, not until they realize where it was hidden."

"How did you find it?"

She untucked her knees from under her chin, finishing her cookie. "I'm working on a disappearance, and the guy who has disappeared had hidden it. He had left hints in his apartment. Apparently, he was caught up in some big shit."

"Such as?"

"No idea. Some people were after him because he had this comb." She frowned. "He had a double life too."

"… Huh. That's definitely not reassuring. How can you be sure his pursuers aren't after you?"

She smiled. "I'm a big girl. I made sure no one was following me when I went to his apartment and looked out for any spying device. My ability made it easy to find the comb's location, but that's because of its unique features."

"What about the case? Who requested it from you?" he asked. He couldn't help being worried; he sounded like an overprotective parent but the thought that something could happen to her… was not pleasant at all.

"Lynd did, but unofficially so. She asked me to look more into it after finding some fishy stuff. She hired me as a detective, but it's not officially written anywhere that she did because she wanted to give me some leeway. The police investigation only found that someone was after this guy, and she wanted me to investigate without being burdened by a possible pursuer."

He frowned. "So basically, the police are taking the spotlight so you can work in the shadows."

"Exactly."

"She sounds like a smart woman," he noted. He had never met Megamshill's Police Chief himself, but he had seen her quite a few times on the TV, answering questions during press conferences. He had always been mildly impressed by her determination and her intelligence.

"She really is. I think she's aware that some officers in her ranks could be corrupted. There could be spies anywhere, even within the Police, and she's prudent about that."

"Yeah. There are spies _everywhere_ ," he muttered. "Hence the danger."

"You sound like you can relate."

"Yeah," he sighed. "I'm working on a disappearance too. There are some spies who keep ruining my plans and are starting to get on my nerves. I caught one once, but the others are notably better."

"Whose disappearance?"

"Eugene Priman."

"The Renaissance collector?" she guessed. "His disappearance caused quite a ruckus."

"Poor guy had a tough enemy against him. I've no idea what he did to make them go after him."

"Priman wasn't the kind to mess with people."

"I know. It makes the whole issue worse. What could he have done?"

She shrugged. "Or what did he have, or know, or say, or _think_."

"Exactly. And that's harder to investigate since he's most likely dead somewhere and his wife doesn't know anything." He took a cookie. "The only people who knew about him are either dead or missing. Just a few days ago another one might have died." He thought of Elias, again. For some reason, he didn't want Elias to be dead. He had questions to ask him—and a glass of gin to give back.

She shifted on her seat. "That sounds fishy. If your enemy is powerful enough to hire strong nen users, they could seriously harm you."

He pondered her words. Ray had been a trained spy, but not strong enough to handle him. The two fast spies, however, had managed to outrun him, which was not that trivial. Could it be that the Anonymous had more people with similar abilities up their sleeve? "I'm aware," he finally said. "Some of their spies managed to escape while spying on me. Fast spies, with that. Faster than _me_. One of my abilities is designed to be the fastest thing ever, and yet they managed to outrun me. As if they were teleporting."

She crossed her arms. "An ability like that can't be missed."

"I wanted to ask a hacker hunter I know at the HCDS to find their ability, but they're being watched at the moment. I don't want to involve too many people in this; it could get dangerous."

"If she's not available, then don't ask anyone else. It's safer if the HCDS doesn't know what you're looking for," she warned

"Why?" he asked, astonished by her vehemence.

"If your Anonymous has some reach in the HCDS, it could give them the upper hand on you if they know what you're up to. You need to indirectly get your info."

"Hacking," he guessed.

"That's the safest way, for you." She leaned back. "I'd propose my help if I were sure to get you somewhere. But there are extremely good hacker hunters at the HCDS. They would notice my attempt to break into their database, and it would expose both you and me. I can hack but I'm nowhere near the level of a strong hacker hunter."

"Nah, let's avoid that. With some assholes after us, we better stay low key. But thanks for suggesting. You're already doing a lot."

She shrugged. "Thank Matlab, not me. I'm literally devouring cookies with you, not doing much."

"Psh, shut up. You know you're helping." He then narrowed his eyes. "Did I ever mention the hacker I know was a _she_?"

She gave a forfeiting smile. "Ophelia is the only hacker hunter who personally knew me at the HCDS and still works there. She worked for my mentor when I became an apprentice at the HCDS."

She stopped talking after that, raising a wall around her past. As she always did when they brushed the topic. There was something mysterious in the way she kept it a secret and only let through as little information about it as she could. Mysterious, and fragile. As though thinking about it tickled some memories she'd rather forget.

So, he changed the topic and joked about something silly. She looked uncomfortable enough and he didn't want to push her to talk about something she didn't want to share. He was confident that she would eventually open up, but it was too early. She was still trying to defend herself against something he wasn't sure of. Whether that was the vulnerability of exposing herself or the threat of her memories haunting her, he wasn't sure, but he wouldn't push her. He didn't want her to be wary around him.

The hour was quickly over as they talked about their professional successes. It turned out that it had been her who had shut down the entire Standford Luxury building's electricity to arrest Dr. Philphil —some insane but _insanely_ _rich_ man who had claimed to be a scientist and had carried gross experiments on human beings and animals.

"He was about to fry a woman when I arrived. Heaven knows how he managed to get an electric chair. If I hadn't cut the power, she'd be dead."

"Ew. That's worse than the Wonderland serial killer."

"Well, the most shocking is that no one noticed." A window popped on her computer. "Wait," she said. "I've got the key."

"Awesome," he breathed as he moved closer.

She decrypted the file with another program and the encryption key she had found, and created a text file. After that, she skimmed through the log file. "When did you say the call was made?"

"September 21st, last year. Around 10 P.M. I think, from the bar."

She stopped in front of an entry and grabbed a pen and a post-it. "Room 88." She opened another file she had just stolen and decrypted. She searched for the room number on the file until she found one that corresponded to the right date. "Robert C. Mulgrad."

"Bingo," he said, his eyes studying the name. He took the post-it she was handing to him. "I could kiss you right now."

"Whenever you want."

He chuckled. "You're amazing. Thanks."

"No problem."

He gathered his stuff. "I won't take more of your time."

She walked him to the door. "I wouldn't mind. I just have a meeting with Maya at 6 P.M., but all I'm gonna do is read some nice, sweet journal in the meantime."

"You're meeting Maya?"

"I'm gonna disappoint her," she said in a resigned voice. "I won't take the case, now that I know the Whisper is involved. I'll have to close the case of her brother."

But he just shook his head. "She'll understand. Trust me on this."

She grinned—the best goodbye he could hope for. "I'll see you tonight, at the court?"

"Yep. I'll be there," he assured as he opened the door.

"And, Killua?" she called before he left. Then, as he turned around: "Be careful."

He blinked. Of all things she could say, he hadn't expected this one. But he just poked her nose. "I'll be fine."

He left her with a new name in mind. _Mulgrad_.

Now all he had to do was find out _who_ that Mulgrad was.

* * *

 **Friday, April 10th**

 **2:35 A.M.**

He brought a cookie to his mouth, taking it between his lips while he turned a page of the record he had been reading, and pushed it his mouth. As he munched on it, his eyes swept over the page, catching the important parts, ignoring the trivial ones.

 _Robert Creos Mulgrad,  
Born on June 9_ _th_ _, 197X.  
Place of birth: York Shin City, Sahelta._

A visa application to Tanalea issued four years ago. Killua narrowed his eyes. It was the third visa application for Tanalea he had found; the two others had been issued respectively two years ago and eight months ago.

And that, without a doubt, was the fishiest thing ever, considering that Mulgrad's father had been suspected of weapon trafficking quite a few times, according to the articles Killua had found. It seemed that he had played his part in the Kumotori issue, by supplying the Tanalean rebels with advanced weaponry. He surely wasn't the only one, but it was because of people like him that the rebels and opponents had gained power, until they finally tried to pull a coup d'état—and failed.

Killua sighed, crossing his ankles as he put his feet on the table, leaning back in his armchair. As fishy as that sounded, that was nothing new for him.

Four days.

He had been scouring for information about Mulgrad for four days, and all the archives he had seen had revealed the same thing: he was a weapon smuggler. _I get it, geez_ , he thought.

Now, it would make sense that he'd contact Elias, since Elias made his own— _excruciatingly_ _annoying_ —weapons, and Killua could easily deduce that the Anonymous was affiliated with Mulgrad, but there was no hint as to _who_ the Anonymous was in Mulgrad's files, and that was the only thing Arashi Kareha-Priman needed and _wanted_ to know. There were only reports and reports about Mulgrad being suspected and accused of smuggling weapons in York Shin, in Megamshill, in Les Anges, and so on. Without ever actually going to jail, but that went without saying.

Which left one option: meet Mulgrad himself. If the archives couldn't talk, then Mulgrad surely would. Or, at least, with sharp claws under his chin and some electric current sizzling near his throat, he probably wouldn't mind spilling the beans.

That meant breaking into his highly secured mansion—no big deal— and making him talk — _hopefully_ not much of a big deal. The problem was, Mulgrad wasn't in town. He was currently in York Shin, according to Killua's sources. He had left for a 'business trip', whatever that meant, and would come back on April 26th. That forced Killua to wait, and Killua _didn't_ like waiting. He needed to feed his curiosity and quench his need to find that goddamned Anonymous. He needed some _action_ , dammit. Not some idle archive checking. That was Maya's forte, with her plump owl, not his.

A beeping sound suddenly echoed in the archives room. Killua jolted, swiftly taking all the files on the table—and his most precious cookies—and disappearing behind a shelf.

"You heard something?" a man asked, flashlight beams sweeping over the room.

"No," a woman replied, and sighed. "Kyle, it's impossible for anyone to be there. We're the only ones to have the code. Let's check the reception room instead. It's not code-locked, and I'm sure Jimmy forgot to lock it again."

"That asshole," the man grumbled, closing the door as they left.

 _Well._

A few seconds passed, and Killua finally moved from his spot, returning to the table. He cracked a smug smile as he eyed the door. It _was_ technically impossible to get there. The armored doors were secured with a code that Killua didn't know at all. But what kind of electronic lock, no matter the code, could resist some sweet electric manipulation _à la Killua_? Just a spark with a decent intensity and an acute perception of how the system responded to his electric impulse… and the door opened to him.

There were no locked doors to Killua. No security cameras, no electric traps, no Taser, nothing. Electricity was _his_ field—pun absolutely intended.

After one last look at the record he had been checking, he put it back in the shelves and picked another. He sat back on the armchair, opening it and flipping through the pages.

Until he found an interesting article.

 _A new one._

His interest was piqued. The article was showing a picture of Mulgrad near a grinning blond man, shaking his hand. He read the headline.

 _ **MULGRAD STEEL**_ **AND** _ **FAEM CEMENT WORKS**_ **MERGE TOGETHER**

Quickly, he read the article, his eyes darting left and right repeatedly until he reached the last full stop.

 _Faem?_

Killua had never heard that name, and after all the articles he had read, he had never seen one about Mulgrad's steel factory. Yet, as he read the other articles in that record, he realized Mulgrad actually had quite a few associates and had bought some smaller companies. This record seemed based entirely on his public profile, the image of the man with a big factory and a lot of money; not the weapon trafficker. Nothing groundbreaking, but it was new, and Killua was quite lucky since it was the last record.

Still, it was quite a change of mood. Some light reading, compared to all the—justified—accusations. So, Killua made copies of those articles as well and put them in his satchel, along with all the other copies of all the other articles. Then, he put the records back and gathered his stuff, grabbing another cookie in the process.

He was done for that night. It was over three in the morning and he had some sleep to catch on. Especially that he was about sure he wouldn't head home early the next day, since he was having dinner with Hana.

The thought was pleasant, stirring something giddy in him— _giddy_ , he grimaced. A word he had always hated to use to qualify himself. Whatever she was doing to him, it was turning him into a cheesy and sappy —and turned-on— mess. A mess with… not-so-innocent-nor-platonic-nor-innocuous thoughts.

Yep. A mess. A mess he'd rather not try to put words on because chances were that would result in an even bigger mess.

A little electric manipulation later and Killua was strolling in the corridor with his satchel and his cookies. Not the least bothered by two security guards patrolling and arguing right at the corner. Why would he be? He could walk in front of them and hide in the shadows and they wouldn't notice a thing.

Yet, a part of him kind of wanted to fool around a little bit. Something fun and harmless, that would give them a little fright and a scary tale to tell their grandchildren—'a ghost ambushed me, but I, your most amazing grandparent, defeated it!'

He circled around the corner, then jumped behind a pillar.

"I'm telling you!" the man from earlier started. "Pigeons actually spawned from hell."

"Please, Kyle."

"Maricia, have you ever looked at a pigeon? Have you ever looked at their gross tiny eyes and their gross way to bob their head back and forth? They look like they're constantly invoking Satan. Hell devices. They want chaos. I'm sure they shit on us _on purpose_."

"They're _birds,_ for God's sake. I can't believe someone with a decently sized brain could talk shit about birds for _two whole fucking hours_. Get a hold of yourself, you idiot."

"That's mean. You talk shit about Jimmy all the time."

"Jimmy isn't a pigeon, for all I know—though he has the looks for it."

Killua held back a laugh. Those two were quite a pair. He almost felt bad for what he was about to do.

In a split second, he emitted a wave of nen at them and ran away, smirking when he heard the man yelp and the woman smack him. "Are you scared of the wind now?" she scolded him, and their bickering faded away as Killua ran, his footstep muffled by years of training.

He took a deep breath once he was outside, finishing his cookies on his way home.

He had a feeling he would dream of pigeon smugglers that night.

* * *

 **Saturday, April 11th**

 **8:30 P.M.**

Killua arrived on time at Hana's place. As usual. He was never early because chances were people weren't ready before the due time, but he tried not to be late either. Perhaps because he was too impatient to see her, or because he was a punctual person in general, he wasn't sure which one it was.

When she opened and greeted him, though, she had a spoon in her hand, and he quickly saw that she wasn't entirely done. Which wasn't so like her; she was a neat freak, a punctual and organized girl. Being late wasn't in her habits. It was only when he had arrived in the living room that he understood that she actually _wasn't_ late.

She was just a tiny bit overwhelmed by the quantity of food she had prepared.

"Hana, what's all this food?" he asked, staring at the nems and the spring rolls, the rice with the caramel chicken, the Vietnamese salad and the bowl of lettuce laid on the table. "Is this what having a grandma feels like?"

She scrunched her nose. "I don't want any leftovers. You're gonna bring some of those back with you."

"Wow." His eyes fell on her spoon. "What's the spoon for, then?"

"Dessert."

"There's a dessert after that?"

"Of course there is, _duh_."

"Duh," he repeated. Now that she had mentioned it, he did smell the baked crust of something sweet in the oven. And he couldn't help staring at the food with anticipation. His stomach was rumbling. "Everything looks so good. I can't believe it."

She grinned. Such a big, bright grin. The Hana Grin. "I'm glad."

"How much time did you spend on that?"

"I didn't make the nems and the spring rolls. I ordered them from my favorite Vietnamese restaurant — _Wonderwonem_ , it's the best. They make the _best_ Vietnamese crêpes —I freaking dreamt of them, because of how good they were. So yeah, it didn't take me that long in the end."

"Holy shit. I can't wait." He looked at her. She was still grinning. "You know, I've been thinking about this, but you're such an intense person," he mused.

"Where does that come from?"

"I've thought about this a lot. I couldn't find a way to properly qualify you and give justice to your exuberant personality. But I think that might be it. Intensity."

She leaned against the table. "I might need some help to understand."

"Well," he started as walked closer, "when you laugh, you laugh loudly. When you grin, you grin brightly. When you focus, as in _really_ focus, you focus so intensely that nothing can make you snap out of it."

"Really?"

"Yup. There's doing something, and doing something the Hana way. It's like considerably intensifying the action. Partying, and partying the Hana way. Working, and working the Hana way. Organizing a dinner, and—" He showed the table with the entries, the meal, the drinks, the fruits… "—organizing a dinner the Hana way." He smiled as she chuckled. "Caring, and caring the Hana way."

She bit her lower lip, blushing that rosy hue that looked so _her_. "I might cry you know."

"Don't," he warned. "I'm not sure I can handle Hana-tears just yet."

"You're not even far from the truth."

"I suspect that." He thought of her, six days ago, shutting herself out from all her loved ones. He brushed the thought away. "Intense Hana. Doing everything the intense way."

She paused for a few seconds. An idea seemed to flash in her eyes. He saw it in the spark burning deep in her eyes. "You know, I'm an intense lover, too."

There she was. Flirting, a predator on the prowl, tilted head and killer smile and smoky eyes. Exposing her delicate neck, a seductive edge in her posture. Cheeky, tempting, and way too pleased with herself.

Shivers coursed down his arms. It worked too well on him. He smirked, looking unfazed. "Not sure I'm gonna let you have that one. We might need to fight for that title."

She took a step toward him. And another. And another. Until she was close, so close — _within his reach_. "Wanna try me?" she challenged, her gaze so intense it might as well be touching him.

And he held it. Sucked in by her passion. "You're dangerous," he breathed.

Something changed in her expression. The air around them tightened, tense with attraction, and her cheeky smile had disappeared. Slowly, she laid a hand on his chest to smooth a wrinkle on his shirt. Warmth spread through his whole body under her touch, as small as it was, a wave washing through him as blood pulsed in his temples—slowly, at first, then more resolute. His heart accelerated, fueled by her delightful touch, by the green gaze that bore in his eyes.

A thousand questions were warring in her eyes. A thousand _'can I'_ and _'I want'_ and _'should I'_ and so much more he simply couldn't read them all. A thousand echoes to his own questions.

And he wanted to tell her 'you can' and 'take it' and 'you should' but his mouth was shut and he couldn't think and each second was a new urge to the swarm in his head that grew and grew and stifled his reason with so, so many wants.

He wanted to reach for her. Touch her. Glide his fingers down to her waist. Grab her hips. Pull her closer. Feel her against him.

His eyes fell on her lips. Peach pink. Lush. Full. _Delicious_.

Kiss her.

He wanted to kiss her.

She opened her mouth.

And the oven's timer rang. She didn't say anything, her mouth open, gaping. "The cupcakes!" she exclaimed and rushed to the kitchen, leaving him alone with a nebulous head.

He breathed out, as discrete as he could. Still in a strange trance that numbed his thoughts. He felt ridiculously dumb, unable to think about anything.

(Except one thing.)

(One _person_.)

He passed a hand through his hair as she fretted with the oven. Recovering from the phenomenon that was Hana, his brain suddenly understanding that, no, he wasn't going to kiss her tonight, but, yes, he had wanted to.

The atmosphere loosened up. He took this opportunity to look at his reflection in the mirror. His neck was a bit flushed—and his pupils dilated. He couldn't even hide them—his eyes were too fair. He frowned and took a deep breath. Flirting the Hana way was _definitely_ very intense.

"Move, move, move," Hana warned as she came back, clasping baking gloves around the handles of a baking plate. "Hot stuff on the way, move!"

"The cupcakes or the cook?"

"I love how you catch all my double-entendre," she said in a singsong voice, putting the cupcakes on the dining table.

He sidled up to her. "Mood-killers," he mumbled to the cupcakes.

"Says the one who will eat them all."

He stealthily picked one and took a bite from it, both thankful for the change of mood and disappointed to be far from her touch again. "Delicious."

"Killua!" she scolded. "I haven't even added the toppings, and they're too hot!"

"Hot damn."

She cast a surprised look at him. "It's usually my job to reference song lyrics," she noted as she grabbed the pastry bag, filled it with the icing, and carefully applied it on the remaining cupcakes. "I'm having a bad influence on you."

"Shh. I'm living the Hana way of life."

"Singing at inappropriate times is also part of the Hana way of life?" she joked. "I thought overdoing stuff was the only thing."

"Overdoing isn't the word."

"So you're not choking just yet from all this intense caring?" she asked. Her tone was playful but he could guess that she was genuinely checking on him, too. Chances were she wasn't always aware of how passionate she was.

"Nah. I don't mind the intense attention," he reassured her. "It's cool. Makes me feel as important as I should feel."

A grateful look passed in her eyes. "I'm glad. I wouldn't want to scare you away."

"You won't."

She smiled. "Okay, I'm done." She moved the plate to the counter to let the cupcakes cool down and went back to the table. "Shall we eat?"

"Finally."

They sat down together. She filled their glasses with water. "Let's tear down all this food."

"I'm _so_ ready," he said.

And he was.

The heat was then long-forgotten as they devoured the food and exchanged witty jokes. Glasses emptied and filled back with water, juice and the occasional wine, food plates disappeared in their rumbling stomachs.

Soon enough, his body relaxed in its usual casualness.

(Though somewhere in the back of his mind, there was still the distant call for her lips ringing and ringing.)

(And ringing.)

* * *

"I ate too much," he said, patting his stomach. They hadn't been able to finish all the food but _had_ torn down the cupcakes. There wasn't a single left.

"Glad you liked the meal," she watched him, only now understanding what her grandmother must have felt when she came over. That satisfaction when someone ate your food to their heart's content. "Wanna go to the balcony? It's warm tonight."

"Sure."

They got up with their mugs of tea. When she slid the balcony door open, she switched on fairy lights, put her mug on the small coffee table by her side, and sat on the big couch that took most of the balcony. He did the same, testing the seat before flopping on it with a content sigh.

"A couch in the balcony. Best idea ever," he said.

"There's a nice view of the stars from here," she said.

He sat up. "Wow, you can see the Soledad today."

"The constellation? Where?" she asked.

He pointed up. "The seven dots shaped like a broken fork."

She squinted her eyes, searching for anything that remotely looked like a fork. "It's hard to see it. You have good eyes."

"I'm used to it," he said. "I used to have a boyfriend who was obsessed with stars and he taught me a thing or two about them. He even nicknamed them, like they were his buddies. Soledad was 'Dinglehopper'."

"A Disney enthusiast? We'd get along. He sounds cool," she said. "You sound like you liked him a lot."

"I did," he admitted.

She moved her legs up, crossing them to warm her feet with her thighs. "I'm curious about your love life. Would it be indiscreet to ask?"

"I don't mind. What do you want to know?"

"I don't know, so many things. How many relationships have you been in?"

"Officially, three. Two girls and a guy. The first girl was a waitress at a café I liked going to. I thought she was cute, and I noticed that she kept looking at me when I went there. Eventually, I went there just to look at her. It didn't work well between us but we had a good time."

"Why didn't it work?"

He pondered her question. "We were really young. Fifteen. She was really shy and awkward around me and I didn't know how to make her feel better—I sucked at handling awkward people at the time. Even when we dated, she was really intimidated."

"Aww, cuties."

"She _was_ cute," he mused. "And so tiny, god, she barely reached my shoulder, and I wasn't six feet at the time."

"She sounds adorable."

"She was the embodiment of the 'Aww' sound you always make."

She chuckled. "What about the others?"

"The second girlfriend was my most recent relationship." He pouted. "I think we dated on a shaky ground so we didn't do a good job with this relationship."

"And the boyfriend then?"

He smiled at this moment, and she knew then that his ex-boyfriend had been a big deal. "His name was Weran. He liked space and stars. And he was terribly cheesy too."

"How come?"

"He looked for stars on my skin and drew constellations. Can't be cornier."

She grinned at the thought. "It's so romantic, though."

"He _was_ very romantic," he said with the _hint_ of a dreamy spark in his eyes. "I can't say I disliked that. I did get cheesy constellation tattoos because of him."

"What happened, then?"

He paused, and she was afraid for a moment to have stepped in something too private. "He didn't want a long-distance relationship. So we broke up in good terms."

"Oh, okay… I'm sorry."

He searched for her eyes. "Hey, don't make that face. We had a fun time together. Besides, we're still good friends."

She shifted, careful to not hurt him. Weran had been special to him, and she knew what it was like to lose someone special because of uncontrollable circumstances. "But don't you feel weird when you talk about him?"

"Nah. I don't feel bad talking about the past."

"Really?"

"Yeah. What's done is done. It's useless to dwell on it. I enjoyed our relationship but it's over now."

She fell silent. Kai irrupted in her mind like he always did when she thought about what could have been. "Would it have lasted, though, if it weren't for that one thing?"

"Nope," he laughed. "We had fun _because_ it didn't last long. Weran really isn't the type to settle down for too long, and I knew that when we dated. He wanted something fun, exciting, short-lived. That's his view on relationships, and it's not compatible with mine—at least in the long run. Pretty sure I was his longest relationship."

"You don't love him anymore?" she asked, then jolted. "Wait, perhaps that's too personal."

But he just waved her off. "Nah. I'm not in love anymore. I have affection for him, but nothing romantic anymore."

She looked away, irked by the twitch in her chest that wouldn't leave. "I see what you mean," she finally said. And she did relate to that, except unlike him, she didn't like the remnants of affection she still bore for Kai.

He had probably noticed the change in her mood because he sat up. "I still have the tattoos," he changed the topic. "Wanna see?"

Her face immediately brightened. "Strip! Strip!" she chanted.

He burst out laughing. "That change in your mood was phenomenal. Wait for it," he started, grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled up until he removed it. "Good thing the night is warm."

But she wasn't listening. She was staring. Biting her lip, grinning, _burning_. "Holy fuck."

"How's the view?"

Her eyes coursed down the perfect lines of his chest, the ridges of his abs, the teasing "V" peeking above the hem of his pants. His body was as sculpted as his face was, a graceful cutout of strength and leanness, a refined masterpiece of ripped muscles elegantly sewn together. Oh, what she would give to _touch_ him. "Perfect."

"Do you even see the tattoos?"

She suddenly looked at him. "What tattoos?" She followed his finger, which showed a constellation near his hip. It occurred to her then that she hadn't seen any tattoo before. "Hip bone?" The tattoo didn't stop at his waistband, instead teasing her as it disappeared under his clothes. It had to be wrapped around his hip. Yet another fantasy she could think about.

"Yep. I have more," he kept going, gesturing to his clavicle and his chest.

"I hadn't even noticed them the first time you showed me your abs..."

"My abs are quite the sight," he boasted.

She watched him, refraining an urge to trace the thin lines between the stars on his skin. "Here too." She pointed at his side, right below his pectorals. "And here." His triceps. His ankle. His shoulder.

He moved on the seat to give her his back. "The bests are here."

His back was covered with small constellations. From his nape to the small of his back, discrete lines that linked his scattered beauty spots with black ink dots. Her eyes followed the maze of tiny stars between the valleys on his back, wishing it were her fingers, her _lips_ instead. "It's beautiful," she admitted.

"I think so, too." He put his shirt back, much to her disappointment. "More than the tattoos, actually, Weran gave me a whole new view on beauty spots. I find myself looking for constellations on people more than I should. It's fun. You see space maps on people's bodies and it's so cool."

"You can recognize them?"

"A few. Actually—" He stopped mid-sentence, hesitating. "I saw a few on your back," he finished.

" _My_ back?"

"Want me to show you?"

She turned around and pulled her shirt up, just enough for him to see her whole back without showing the front side of her bra. "Go ahead."

His fingers brushed her skin. Tentatively. A spark fused from his touch, thrilling her body with delicious heat. She slightly jolted when his fingertips traced the first line on her back, leaving a trail of shivers, when he stopped, changed the direction, and again, and again, each turn a new line of shivers, a new fit of goosebumps. Her heart pounded against her chest, wild and furious, but she kept her mouth shut, her eyes wide staring at nothing, _seeing_ nothing. Her whole attention was on his fingers on her skin and the sparks they stirred.

"Leo," he said with a raw nuance in his voice. He knew what his touch did to her.

"What?"

"You have the Leo constellation on your back."

She chuckled, but it came out raspier than she'd expected. She sounded drunk. "Funny, I'm a Leo."

"There's another," he said. He moved lower, near her waist. She jolted again but laughed this time. "I'm ticklish," she explained.

He traced one last line and lingered. "Pegasus."

"Woah." She readjusted her shirt and sat back correctly. She still felt the ghost of his touch electrifying her back. The constellations vibrated on her skin, everywhere he had touched her. "So I have a lion and a winged horse on my skin."

He snorted. "Very roughly. Whoever came up with constellation maps really couldn't be nitpicky."

"You see that dot here? With those two other dots? Yeah, definitely a sea goat with _massive_ horns."

"Pretty much." He took a sip of tea and put his mug back on the small table. "Okay. I've told you about Weran, you tell me about one of your exes now."

"You're in for a long ride," she joked. "I've had a lot of boyfriends."

"Nah, not them. The one that mattered the most. The one you think about when I say 'ex'."

She tilted her head. "Kai, then."

"Kai it is. It's Kai for Weran."

"My memory of Kai isn't half as pleasant as yours with Weran is, though. We're not in good terms anymore."

"What happened?"

"God, so many things," she sighed. "And at the same time too few." She thought of Kai's evasive eyes, of the way he made her do all the things she never did, without even meaning to. Fighting. Demanding. Opening up. All because she had clung to him, had cared so deeply she had lost herself on the way.

"What do you mean?"

She took a sip of tea. Kai was one of the subjects she didn't like talking about—her intimate topics. She glanced at Killua, at his patient eyes and his relaxed stance. For some reason, she felt like she could talk to him, without any shield this time. It wasn't like the first time she had confided in him about her doubts because then it had been because they didn't know each other well enough for him to care. At this moment, it was precisely because they were getting to know each other, and it was a whole different kind of confession.

"Our relationship was an emotional disaster," she started. "He didn't want a relationship. He felt like they stripped him from his freedom, and no matter how much he loved me, he never managed to feel comfortable enough to open up and trust me—even, or especially when we officially dated." She scoffed. "I blamed him for everything my other boyfriends blame me for: emotional distance and aloofness."

"Do you know why he was that way?"

"I believe it has something to do with his father, though he's never admitted it. His father suffocated him and trapped him in all the possible ways. I've met him, actually. I've seen him emotionally abuse his son in front of me, though Kai never wanted to listen to me when I told him. I think it warped his view on relationships. He was convinced they would steal his independence. Any ties to anyone is too much for him to bear."

"He sees relationships as restricting," Killua deduced.

"Exactly. We were obviously incompatible in that sense. He saw relationships as limiting, I see them as expanding."

"Expanding?" he repeated. Interest sparked in his eyes.

"Yeah. A real relationship, in the long term, adds two wholes together. Not a fusion, but an addition. You work together and perfect each other and make each other feel good, and you get to share so much that in the end you always end up with more than you started with."

He smiled. "That's cool. I like your insight."

She returned his smile, finding comfort in the softness of his expression. "Me too. But Kai didn't agree. He thought relationships canceled people out." She leaned back against the seat. "Though I guess that's all he was taught. To cancel himself out for his father's sake. Abuse is vicious and it's hard to break the vicious circle." She glanced at him then. She wondered if he carried any deep scar from the abuse he had to sustain. (But she mentally scolded herself then, because it wasn't her place to poke any potential bruise he could bear. Not when he had respected hers.)

"You were better off by yourself," Killua commented. "You can't fix people who don't want to be fixed."

"Yeah," she absent-mindedly replied. His words echoed in her mind. That was what she would have needed to understand, at the time. What Thomas and her mom had said and repeated. What Lynd had agreed to, a few months later, when they had talked for the first time about their past. What Hana couldn't seem to wrap her mind around, even now.

Killua smirked then. "Is there anything else I should know about your view on relationships?" he asked, interrupting her thoughts. "Asking for a friend," he joked.

She laughed. "Wow! Okay. That's an original way to ask me out."

He tutted. "Don't jump to conclusions. Answer my question."

"Well, tell _your friend_ that I'm very clingy, stubborn and annoying."

"Huh. Nothing new."

"Rude."

"But what do you seek in a serious relationship?"

She arched her eyebrows. "I can't believe this is some mere curiosity. You totally sound like an awkward nerd who doesn't know how to ask his crush out and beats around the bush in a meager attempt to seduce her."

He hit his chest. "Ouch. Busted. You totally figured me out. But now you're supposed to play your part and act like my clueless crush who thinks this is an innocent question and doesn't see any hidden intention in it."

She chuckled. "I seek safety."

"Safety," he repeated.

"What about you?"

"Is that part of the script?" he asked.

"Of course. That's when the shy nerd forgets he was trying to gather info about his crush, and gushes about his principles, carried away by his need to express his beautiful philosophy. And then, I, the crush, am so dazzled by your view on life that I fall in love with you." She snapped her fingers. "This is a perfect plot."

"So corny," he said. Then, he paused to think. "I seek stimulation."

"Sex?"

"Not necessarily _sexual_ stimulation, goddammit _Hana_." He rolled eyes as she snickered. "Intellectual and emotional stimulation."

"Oh, okay." The words rewound in her mind. _Stimulation_. "You need to talk, express, feel and share basically."

"Yeah. It can't be boring. If it's boring, I lose interest. Also—" he started, and flashed a sheepish smile—a sight she rarely saw. "I like spoiling and being spoilt."

She blinked. "That's so cute. I'd never have guessed that from you."

"I'm cute as fuck, come on."

"Well, I can understand. I mean, I'm the same. Sort of. I love giving and receiving attention. Especially receiving. And giving. Whatever. Make me the center of your attention and I'm all yours."

He crossed his hands behind his neck. "Seems like we're compatible," he noted.

"We should definitely date," she joked, although, in a part of her mind, that did not play out as a joke. The possibility felt strange. Foreign, in a way, like a concept she couldn't even picture yet.

"Definitely. Imagine the amount of hotness that would radiate from us."

"Power couple."

"Yup. Could provide heat for the coldest Swedish winters," he mused in a playful tone.

"Could provide heat for my boss's cold dead heart."

"I wouldn't go that far."

She laughed. "Right. He's beyond saving."

He was watching her, with this gentle expression he sometimes wore when she laughed. It shook something in her stomach. She loved when his features softened, when his sharpness soothed to show his tender core. He was so beautiful.

"I should go," he announced, and her bubble exploded. "It's getting late."

"Alright," she said, masking her disappointment with a smile. She hadn't felt the time fly. She didn't want him to leave, and she didn't want to wait until the next day to see him again. She wanted to stay with him the whole night and talk about anything and everything.

But she couldn't do that, so instead, she walked him to the door, already starting the countdown to the next time she would see him.

"Next time, we do it at my place," he said when they reached the door. "With a movie. A nice movie. Okay?"

"Sounds good," she replied, her eyes riveted in his, unable to look away. "I'll see you soon."

"Yeah, see you." He opened the door. "And thanks for the meal. And the talk. I had fun."

"No problem, I had fun too." She shrugged. "I always do when I'm with you. I really like being with you."

He didn't reply, staring at her instead with his crooked smile. A surge of affection seized her at the sight. "Good night, Hana," he said, walking away in the corridor.

She watched his back as he moved away, already missing him. "Good night, Killua."

He turned before disappearing in the corridor, and she waved at him. He gave a brief wave to her, the way he usually did it. Then, he was gone.

She closed her door. Even though he wasn't there anymore, she couldn't think of anything else but him. While she did the dishes, cleaned, prepared for the night… he was there, with his beautiful face and his silvery laugh and the discrete constellations all over his body, the map of stars tattooed on his skin.

She finally flopped on her bed, sighing.

She knew where this was going.

The whole countdown to the next meeting. The giddiness when they hung out. The sparks and the shivers and the fireworks when he touched her. The way her mind played his laugh on repeat and plastered his smile all over her thoughts. The rush of warmth when he was near her. The wild heartbeats and cartwheeling stomach. And the way her eyes wandered all over him, always looking for more skin.

She wanted his gaze on her while she talked. She wanted to be the reason of his laughs. She wanted to surprise him and care for him. She wanted all his attention, all his smiles, all his stolen glances at her lips and her cleavage and her neck and her beauty spots.

With a groan, she turned over. She knew _very well_ where this was going.

But while a part of her was excited at the thought, she wasn't sure it was a good thing. After all, it was so foreign to her.

She wasn't sure she was ready for that.

* * *

 **Sunday, April 12th**

 **7:02 A.M.**

He woke up the next day to her bare back under his touch. When he found himself in his bed, alone, and not on her balcony with her, he realized he had just relived the moment in his dream. The map he had drawn on her skin. The fairy lights dancing on her back. The burning and the yearning in his fingertips. The way he had been so transfixed by the feel of her skin that he had nearly forgotten how to talk.

He got out of bed with a sigh, heading to the kitchen to make a hot chocolate. Confused thoughts started foaming in his mind, questions popping through the sleepy fog.

One certainty arose from that confusion: there was something different in their friendship. Not in a good or a bad way, but different. It was perhaps the uncalled for—but much appreciated—fantasy of kissing her in the neck that sometimes popped in his mind, or the obsessing picture of her full, lush lips when she talked. He had wanted to kiss her at some point, and that was nothing innocuous.

(There was still a dull call for her lips echoing in his head.)

She had changed, too. There was a new subtle undertone to her flirty jokes, an invitation slipped between the layers of her seduction. He felt like she was testing the ground, or testing her luck, or both, but he couldn't be sure. Only one thing was sure: there was something new between them. And that something made him crave her presence more with each passing day.

The doorbell suddenly rang, piercing through his thoughts. He looked at the clock, confused. It was way too early for anyone to come. He got up, checked in the peephole, but saw no one.

He opened the door. His eyes fell on a basket with a red ribbon, sitting on his doormat. He picked it up, frowning.

 _Happy Easter!_

 _Enjoy these lil' treats! :*_

─ _Hana_

Of course.

A smile broke on his face. The basket contained a huge chocolate hen with a bunch of tiny eggs and a box of macaroons from the fancy pastry shop down the street. He looked in the corridor for any trace of her. As he found none, he went back to his apartment and put the basket on the table.

He picked a raspberry macaroon and bit in its delicious mixture of soft and crunchy.

She really knew how to make him melt.

* * *

 **A/N:** Fluff, fluff, more fluff. Yay for fluff. I love fluff. I hope you do too. (Also yay cheese.)

So yeah. I hope you liked the hacker part because I had to do some extensive research to know how it worked (it's pretty cool btw). Oh, and, the part about encryption keys being stolen thanks to CPU's high frequencies analysis is _an actual thing_ —I didn't come up with that. You can google it and find a lot of cool info about it—it's realllllly cool. Obviously, I took the liberty to bring in hacker hunters to make the thing more HxH-ish.

Annnnnd the Matlab part with high pass filter and shit… well… that was just me making some good use of a course that nearly killed me (I'm not friends with Matlab, like, at all). So far, it's the only use I've found for it because it's a course I had to take even though I definitely don't want to specialize in that.

But yeah. I used it for a fanfiction. What a useful thing.

 **Anyway, how did you like the chapter?** The Hanallua moments? The parts about their pasts? Gon's package to Killua? I also tried to show you some of my world-building, I hope it sounded HxH-ish enough.

(Feel free to kill me for the pseudo-kiss-interruption. The actual kiss is a lot more fun than that though, so you'll thank me later.)

(Yes, the kiss is written.)

 **What was your favorite moment?** I'd really love to know! Your feedback makes me so, so happy. I'd really love to know what you thought or if there's a part that particularly caught your attention, or if you have any question.

I'm gonna end this A/N with a hint for next chapter: it's called **Spilling** and it's 15k long and… a lot happens. (Also, Thomas and June will be there for most of the chapter! If you like them then you'll be happy.)

Thank you again and see you in two weeks!


	11. Spilling

**A/N:** Hi hi! How are you guys? I missed you! I always feel like I'm waking up when I update.

Here's the huge chapter promised! The actual word count is around 15k (fanfiction dot net messes up the count I guess).

 **On the news side:**

1- I'm still working on chapter 15. It's coming out well I guess, though I'm struggling to write some scenes because of lack of motivation/constant worries/lack of time. I've got three scenes finished, two halfway there and one that I still need to entirely write. So I guess you could say I'm 60% done with it.

2- I've decided to post a link every two weeks on my tumblr for people who don't have accounts and prefer checking their tumblr. I hope it will help.

3- **I was thinking about posting an excerpt of the upcoming chapters one week before the update, on Tumblr, to keep readers on toes and give a little taste of the chapter before it's published.** However, **I probably won't do it if no one reads them** because that'd be useless. So it all depends on what you guys want. Do you like the idea or do you prefer waiting two weeks? It's up to you. Tell me what you want.

Huhh, on the random side, I've started playing Pokémon Go and I'm having the time of my life, so that's for the random news. I'm dying to catch more Eevee because that little puppy/fox/bunny is adorable. (I had never played Pokémon before but boy I'm having fun.) (I REALLY WANT THAT JOLTEON.)

Anyway, as always, **thank you for all the feedback**! Reviews, messages, faves, follows… They all warm my heart. Thank you forever, sweet readers. Bless you forever. I hope you choose to stick with me through this journey. It's a long one and sometimes it feels lonely, so your support means the world.

* * *

Chapter 10: **Spilling**

* * *

 **Wednesday, April 15th**

 **5:03 A.M.**

His hand hovering near her face, opening like a deadly flower, splayed fingers twitching ever so slightly as they moved closer. That was what she had always seen. The same scene rewinding each night, the same pictures roiling on and on in her mind. Obsessing and intoxicating, yet so usual. It had always started with his hand reaching for her, and ended right before it could. The only difference now was the cruel amaryllis on his palm, taunting her, peeking through the burnt glove with its swirling petals.

That night was no different.

Her eyes snapped open, a sharp intake of breath stirring a somersault in her chest. The thrumming of her heart was loud in her ears, hammering in her skull, pulsing in her temples, her throat, her chest. Yet, after but a minute, it quieted down, gradually, and her ragged breathing stilled.

After all, that was something she was used to. The default nightmare her brain played on repeat when it had nothing better to show. At least, that was something she knew to expect; no bad surprise or dead friend to haunt her. Just the hand.

Her eyes stared at the ceiling, her head weighing tons. It was barely dawn, and she really could use some sleep, but she knew it was useless. She would just have another nightmare, one that could hurt her more than the usual one. She didn't want to gamble on that; she couldn't muster the strength to face another reenactment of the failed mission.

With great effort, she dragged herself out of her bed, throwing a shawl over her bare shoulders and holding it tight on her chest. Her eyes narrowed when she checked her phone. She took it with her to the kitchen.

There, she made herself a coffee, sat down at the dining table and looked out the window, at the stars dotting the ink sky. The steam unfurling from her cup warmed her chin, and she cupped her hands around it. The sun would rise in three hours, and not before, as would any of her friends. Until then, she had to deal with her thoughts, with the sinking fear in her chest and the deep sense of failure bending her back.

All these years for nothing. Three years learning to live with the trauma, forgive herself, love herself. Three years to learn how to move on and accept her scars and her bruises and see past her nightmares. All for nothing.

Her hand slipped to her stomach, to the scar underneath her clothes.

" _Is it still fine? I mean, this…" she said, lifting her shirt with quivering fingers. Exposing herself. "Wouldn't it ruin your drawing?"_

 _Ilvana stayed quiet, her eyes stuck on Hana's stomach. "No," she simply said. "But if you're not comfortable, there's no need to push yourself."_

She clutched her stomach, memories unfolding one by one. Memories of a sunny afternoon in an artist's workplace, surrounded by paint stains and brushes and unfinished paintings waiting to be completed.

 _She started stripping while Ilvana looked for her sketchbook, until she was naked. Even then, her hand instinctively tried to hide her scar, her shame, her failure, no matter the nakedness of her breasts or her backside. "Where do I go?" she forced herself to ask._

 _Ilvana didn't miss the gesture, her face blank but her eyes kind. "You can lie on the mattress. You'll have to hold a position without moving until I tell you so. Is that okay?"_

 _Hana nodded. She sat on the mattress while Ilvana flipped through the sketchbook._

" _You know," Ilvana started. "Scars tell stories."_

 _The words hit Hana, unexpected. "How so?"_

" _They're remnants of something ephemeral. Something that passed so fast the moment you notice it, it's already gone. But scars will brand that ephemeral moment on you, like words in a book."_

" _A reminder of our mistakes," Hana whispered._

" _No. A reminder that you lived through something, perhaps something painful, and survived it. At some point, you bled through an open wound, but now look at what your body made for you." She pointed at the scar. "A new start. New skin to fix the gash. And a proof that at some point, you won a battle." She tested a pencil on the sheet, angling it in different ways. "Your body is a patchwork of experiences. Bruises, scars, abrasions, pimples, hickeys, stretch marks… They're an open book to your story."_

 _Hana shifted, transfixed by Ilvana's word. Somehow, somewhere through her explanation, she had removed her hand from her scar._

 _Ilvana finally looked her in the eye. "And I think that's beautiful."_

She stood up, going back to her bedroom. There, she opened a cabinet embedded in her shelves and took one of her notebooks out of it. She flipped through the pages until she found a few loose sheets of drawing papers. With infinite care, she took them.

Some nude sketches Ilvana had drawn of her. A year and a half ago, barely a few weeks after Hana had turned eighteen.

Her eyes roamed over the grainy paper, over the graceful lines Ilvana's art had crafted. She could still see her pencil flying on the sketchbook, catching every single detail on Hana's body, every single chapter of her story. And as she saw herself back in her workroom, moving on the mattress to look right or left, or wrap her arms around her knees or lie on her side, sorrow seized her, thick in her throat.

The Hana in the drawings had been lost, scared and insecure. Obsessed by the scar tearing through her, the thoughts that simmered and snickered and shamed her. And yet, with every flick of Ilvana's pencil, that Hana had felt beautiful. A masterpiece, with the patchwork on her body, mistakes and successes alike sewn on her skin. A living and breathing tale with all its twists and turns. A human being with all the stamps time had made on her.

That day, in Ilvana's workroom, while she posed to become a painting, that Hana had begun the long and painful process of learning to love herself again. She had never been quite done, or even close, but confidence had bloomed in her, and motivation had driven her forward, through any relapse and any doubt. Rise, and rise again, after every fall.

She had believed in herself.

She had believed in her redemption, someday, somehow.

Slowly, she closed the folder. She put the drawings back in the cabinet, stepped back until she sat on her bed, and exhaled a long breath.

It had all gone to waste.

* * *

 **9:24 A.M.**

She flipped a page of Gayan's diary, gulping down paragraph after paragraph.

Her phone suddenly whisked her away from it. She put a bookmark where she had stopped and got up, leaving her workroom with her phone. She opened the message as she reached her bedroom.

'Hey wyd?'

She tilted her head, noting the deterioration in Killua's texting patterns. It seemed that they had grown close enough for him to show his real texting habits. 'Not much, working… but I need to take a shower.'

'( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)'

She giggled. 'Omg. No.'

'You got smth against lenny'

'Nop, I like him, I was just surprised!'

'( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) good'

He stopped typing but a picture was loading. When it finally became clear, she saw it was a picture of a strong detergent. 'use this for your shower,' was the comment he had sent with it.

She bit her lower lip. 'Fuck you?'

'Whenever you want ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)'

'Oh. My. God. Killua.'

'( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)'

They talked about their meeting at the court. He wouldn't be able to come the next day, but he would that night, and that was more than she could ask for.

When he said he was about to leave, she started spamming him with crying emojis. She assumed they were close enough for her to behave like the ass she actually was. He stayed online, and read all the 'texts', but he was silent. Until she stopped.

'you're done?' he asked. She sent a couple more emojis then. Just to have the last word. 'good I'm gonna feel missed now,' he sent, with a smirking emoji. She chuckled then.

When he was gone, she went to the bathroom. She really could use some warm water on her sore back.

While she massaged her scalp with shampoo, her thoughts drifted toward him again. The wonder that Killua Zoaldyeck was. She was quite pleased to see that they talked every day. If she wasn't the one prompting a conversation, he was. Lately, he had even been sending her messages out of the blue, and she had to admit it made her happy.

Sometimes, it was to know if she would come to the court. Other times, he would just send a photo of something cool, or a random joke, or something funny or viral he'd seen on the internet. But whatever the message was, she liked it.

She washed the shampoo away, her muscles relaxing with the warm water. She could have stayed in the shower for hours if it weren't for the diary waiting to be pieced apart in her workroom. So, she stepped out of the shower, clean and energetic, and dried her body.

She stopped along her scar, brushing the puckered skin with her fingertips. She lingered for a moment, trying to remember how it felt to have a smooth skin, void of any giant failure stamped on her body that glared at her every time she undressed. It occurred to her that there had been a time when that fantasy had been a reality. Not her reality anymore.

She slipped in skimpy cotton shorts that barely stretched lower than her white lace thong. _God, if Nana saw me,_ she thought. Her underwear barely covered what needed to be covered and her shorts barely covered that underwear. Her grandmother would have had a stroke.

She perfected the stay-at-home look with an oversized white t-shirt she had won at a science fair, with the Fourier transform printed on it. She had a day-off, but no matter how much she wanted to go out, she needed to work on that diary, so she would stay home until further notice.

Fortunately — for her and her outside-yearning self — it was raining that day, so she wasn't missing on a sunny day at least. There nothing better than snuggling up in a warm bed with a hot chocolate and watching a nice movie on a rainy day.

… Or snuggling up a desk chair to work for hours on a dead man's diary with a scathing black, sugarless coffee. That worked too.

She pushed the door of her workroom, switching on the light and slumping on the chair. She tucked her knee under her chin, opened the journal and started reading.

She hadn't discovered much about Gayan, apart from the fact that he seemed to work as a butler of some sort. Problem was, she couldn't find which family he worked for, and he didn't mention it anywhere. She couldn't find his last name either, and it didn't help that Gayan was quite a common name in Megamshill. Needless to say, the Hunter website couldn't do much for her if she didn't have his complete name.

Which was why she was still at it.

As she flipped through a few more pages, she found an entry dated four years and a half ago.

 **September 12** **th**

 _I'm not quite sure how to talk about today in proper terms._

 _Let's just say the entire Torana family was massacred._

The words hit her in the gut. Torana? She frowned, but kept reading.

 _I was so shocked—and I wasn't the only one. Ziam Torana, a man my master had always admired, killed in a grand fire with all his family. His wife, their children, all of them. Even their newborn son, barely a few days old, whose body entirely burned down to ashes. The funeral will be held in three months, to give the time to the Police and the HCDS to find who did that._

 _But in my opinion, that will unnecessary. I've heard that the corpses were unidentifiable. A dry mass of charred flesh, hard like wood. Madam nearly fainted when she heard._

She grimaced at the corpses' description. A newborn. After all the corpses she had seen, she still couldn't bear the idea of corpses of babies. She had never seen one, and she hoped she would never have to.

 _Master seemed troubled after the Torana massacre. Not in the way one would expect after the death of a friend. I was pretty sure to spot anger on his face._

 _And perhaps, just perhaps, a flicker of fear?_

The entry ended here, leaving her with a disturbing feeling thick in her veins. Torana was a common Tanalean name, a large clan of people who came from the flat and mild meadows in the center of Tanalea. Yet, seeing her last name in the journal of a complete stranger, in an entry about a Tanalean family completely wiped away from Earth, wasn't the most pleasant feeling.

She turned the page, her gaze settling on an article Gayan had glued in the journal.

The article said exactly the same thing, although with a few more details. Ziam Torana, as well as his wife Sana, and their four children, Alina, Miban, Kolanai, and the newborn Narii, had all been killed in their mansion, in a grand fire. And according to the forensics, they had died in atrocious pain.

She shuddered, imagining the body of a tiny human being — _Narii_ — burning to ashes. She forced her eyes away from the names, and read the last paragraph instead.

 _Evidence of an arson has been found, thus dismissing the theory of an accident. However, the reasons for such a terrible act are still blurry, and the Police have yet to figure that out. Vengeance, rivalry, or jealousy, specialists are not quite sure. However, as Tanalea celebrates its fourth anniversary of the end of the Kumotori Crisis, specialists cannot help but wonder if this atrocious crime could be linked to the wave of crimes against the Tanalean community that submerges Megamshill around that time, every year. The Mayor has called for calm at a time when the inhabitants of Megamshill need to support each other._

There it was. The yearly wave of hate crimes against her people, for a crime they didn't commit. For a crime that had been committed _against them_. Suffering once wasn't enough, they also had to play as scapegoats for what the rebels and the government had done.

It could have been anyone else. Her father, her uncle, her aunts. Her cousins and her friends. And it didn't help that this man shared her last name; it made all too easy to imagine her father's body, charred and dead.

She shook the thought away. Hating every word written in that article.

Still, she took a pen, grabbed her notebook, and wrote in distinct letters the one name she would need to remember from this macabre entry.

 _Ziam Torana._

* * *

 **Sunday, April 19th**

 **7:25 P.M.**

The Gala was scheduled for that night.

Killua finished buttoning his shirt, smoothing the rare wrinkles with his hand. He had picked a deep purple button-up shirt, this time, to change a bit from his favorite burgundy shirt. He did the knot of his black tie and adjusted the length until he was satisfied. Then, he dipped his fingertips in some soft gel to sweep his bangs up, revealing his forehead. A few rebel strands remained untamed.

He stepped out of his room, wearing his blazer above his shirt, and texted Hana. She told him to come fetch her at her apartment. So, he went out, locked his apartment's door and slipped his keys into his pockets.

The elevator opened to Hana's floor, and Killua walked out, hands in his pockets. He stopped in front of her door and rang. He was tempted for a moment to ring and ring just to get back at her for destroying his ears with her repetitive doorbell ringing. He was even surprised his neighbor hadn't complained yet—he suspected she was too old and deaf to care.

"Just a moment!" Hana shouted from the inside, and he heard her heels clack on the tiles.

Then, she unlocked the door.

It swung open.

And he saw her.

 _Holy fuck._

"I just need to take my coat and I'm ready," she said, but he barely heard her. Focused instead on the wine red lace sleeves covering her arms, on the patches of golden skin peeking through the delicate fabric. His eyes fell on the lace flowers running along her off-shoulder neckline, on her cleavage enhanced by the intricate pattern. While she wasn't looking, his gaze ran down her flared skirt, to her long legs in sheer black tights, perched on black patent heels.

"Looking good," he said, finally looking at her. Red lipstick, discrete eyeliner, pearly rose gold eyeshadow, and a porcelain doll blush… When she rose bright green eyes to him, his heart broke into a wild dance.

"Thank you," she said, grinning. "You look really good too. I love what you did with your hair."

He chuckled. Coming from her, who had tied her hair in an elaborate bun, leaving only a neck-long strand caressing her cheek… that was hilarious. "I just put gel in my hair. Not some twisting bun or whatever you did."

"Still." She peered into his eyes. "Makes your eyes stand out."

"You like my eyes, don't you?"

"More than I like you."

"… How sweet."

She closed her apartment, locked it, and led him to her car in the parking lot. An average-sized, bright blue car. "We're gonna pick up June and Thomas first," she explained.

He sat on the passenger's seat, closing the door. He noticed then that she had removed her heels to wear ballerinas instead. Surely to drive—it was always safety first with her, so he wasn't that surprised.

She fastened her seatbelt, checked if the rear-view mirror was correctly adjusted, and started the car. "Fasten your seatbelt," she ordered. "I get anxious otherwise."

He glanced at her, amused, but complied. She told him to switch on her CD player and put the first track on it as she drove. Curious about her music taste, he did as she instructed.

… And _Uptown Funk_ started playing.

"Ugh."

Her fingers drummed along the song on the steering wheel as they drove through the neighborhood and out of it. "Gotta kiss myself, I'm so pretty," she sang, and he smiled as he watched her, rolling his eyes. "Can you check on my phone if Tom is ready?"

He took her phone. "He said he's waiting outside with June."

She turned left in a brightly lit street, entering the St-Georgio neighborhood, renowned for being home to many students as the biggest university of the country stood there. She drove past the high walls of the Mechanical Engineering Department near the campus and turned to stop in front of a residence. Two young men in suits were waiting for her. "Hey!" she greeted when they were in the car.

"Yo, dork!" the first young man, with black hair tied in a small bun, exclaimed. "And you must be Killua?"

"Yeah, that would be me. I guess you're June?" He extended his hand, and June took it, a warm and energetic handshake.

"The one and only." He pointed toward the boy next to him. "And that's Thomas, my boyfriend."

The boy named Thomas looked at Killua. The first thing Killua saw were his eyes, turquoise striking against his freckled skin. They almost shone in the dark. "Nice to meet you," he said, taking Killua's hand.

"Same here." He turned back before Hana smacked him for not sitting properly. "She's told me so much about you, it was about time I met you."

"Don't worry, we've had our share of Killua as well," Thomas said.

"Fasten your seatbelts," Hana scolded, interrupting their meeting. "Or else I'm not going anywhere."

"Yes, mom," June said.

The car started, then, and Hana silently drove while Killua got to know her friends. Apparently, Thomas was majoring in creative writing and English literature, though he had a knack for French literature as well. As for June, he was a musician and was working in a group with some friends of his. An artistic couple, basically, both creative in their own ways.

(Hint: Killua liked creative people.)

June was more talkative than Thomas, though. Thomas eventually sat back and let his boyfriend make conversation with Killua, glad to be forgotten.

A few minutes later, Hana parked her car in the parking lot of a hotel, the one the charity organization had rented to organize their gala.

"We have a table reserved for us," Thomas said, leading them inside.

Killua scanned the surroundings. A red carpet led the guests inside a grand room. The guest tables were scattered in the room, far enough from each other to provide enough privacy to the group of friends coming together. Chandeliers hung high from the ceiling, glass dots reflecting the lights on the white tablecloths.

A waitress greeted them and thanked them for coming. She checked their invitations and led them to their table. Killua sat next to Hana, while June and Thomas faced them.

The waitress came back with a plate of appetizers she left on the table and brought a bottle of red wine. She poured wine into their glasses, then left.

"Fancy," June commented, looking around him. A disk-jockey was changing the music, a few guests dancing on the dancefloor before the performance started. "I have high expectations for Sandy now."

"She's gonna be awesome," Thomas argued, the hint of a smile on his face. He turned toward Killua then, and, again, the turquoise of his eyes struck him. It shone even brighter under the chandelier. "So, tell me, how does it feel like to be friends with this dork?" He nodded at Hana, who gave him a long look.

Killua scoffed. "How does it feel?" he repeated. He took his phone and typed something while Thomas and June watched him intently. A few seconds later, Hana's phone buzzed. Again. And again. And again. Repeatedly. "Buzz buzz, Hana's trying to catch your attention."

They burst out laughing. "This is hands down the best imitation of Hana I've seen," Thomas said as he looked at her still-buzzing phone.

"Not even true," she pouted, tipping her chin up.

"Oh yes, it is, I have all the proof," Thomas argued. "I've got good news for you then," he said to Killua. "That means she likes you enough to wake you up on a Sunday morning with a bunch of 'hey buttbaby'."

"She's done that already," Killua noted, glaring at her while she shot a toothy smile.

"You've officially been promoted to Hana's restricted circle of close friends then," Thomas went on, crossing his arms while June solemnly nodded.

At this moment, Killua glanced at her, catching her gaze. And he smiled, a thankful and content smile, welcoming their words like a blessing.

(He liked the sound of it. _Close_ friends.)

She smiled back but blushed and looked away. "Keep talking as if I weren't here," she mumbled.

"Heard something?" June looked around himself. "Voices."

She tried to poke him, but he moved away as she did, snickering. "I'm just gonna sulk now since no one likes me." She crossed her arms. However, she immediately turned back toward them when the song changed. "Holy shit, it's Mambo N° 5! Oh please, someone dance it with me?"

"Voices," June repeated, pretending she wasn't here.

She frowned, and turned toward Killua, showing him the biggest puppy eyes he had ever seen. If he hadn't been immunized against Gon's pleading puppy eyes, he probably would have given in. "Nah, I don't dance on this song; makes me look uncool."

"Meanie," she shot.

Thomas fidgeted on his seat, but eventually took her hand. "Let's go."

"Really? It's okay?" she asked with well-kept concern.

"Yeah, I can do it," he smiled, though he seemed a bit uncomfortable. He rolled his eyes when Hana didn't move. "Come on, the song's gonna be over and you won't have moved your ass."

"Okay," she agreed, and June patted his boyfriend's shoulder.

They exchanged one last gaze before he left with Hana. She was very nearly hopping as they walked to the dance floor with other couples. The song then started, and Killua watched them move together, laugh at their missteps and their clumsy choreography. Thomas, who had first seemed uneasy, seemed more relaxed when more and more people joined them.

A part of Killua wished it had been him instead of Thomas, fingers clasped around her own as he made her swirl in the room. Even though he had been the one to refuse. Something twitched in his chest when they both burst out laughing after he stepped on her foot.

"You're jealous," June observed. When Killua turned to him, he saw he was smirking.

"Me? Nah." And yet, the twitch in his chest was still there, a string pulled every time her eyes shone with affection for her best friend.

"I assure you, you are," June insisted. "You have the exact same face I had every time they were together, back when Tom and I weren't dating." He rested his head on his hand, as though he was recalling something. "Back when I thought he liked her."

But Killua just shrugged, stubborn. "I'm telling you, I'm not jealous," he lied.

"And I'm not gay," June shot back, and Killua unwittingly laughed. "C'mon. I'm not blaming you. She's quite a catch."

Killua's eyes flew back to her. She had a goofy expression, the kind that suited her so well. The kind that filled him with tenderness. "I know."

June's lips tipped up in a smile. "You have no idea how glad I am for her existence."

Surprise forced Killua's gaze back on June. "How come?"

"I owe her a lot. Both for what she does for Tom, and what she does for me." He stayed quiet for a moment, watching his boyfriend move more freely with Hana. "She's a breath of fresh air," he added and smiled fondly when Thomas laughed once again with her.

 _A breath of fresh air._

"Don't let go of her," June finally said, his eyes never leaving his boyfriend.

An easy smile brushed Killua's lips. "I won't."

June sat up. "Okay, that was very emotional. Let's talk about something crude before they come back and think we were getting mushy about them."

"Have you ever realized that Bowser is basically naked?" Killua said.

"… Right. That's true. I don't know what to do with this information."

"Yeah, and he has spiky leather bracelets around his arms." Killua thought, picturing Bowser's design. "And a choker too. That's kinky."

"Bowser is kinky," June said as though it were a revelation. "You just ruined Mario Kart for me."

Hana and Thomas came back at this moment, stopping right at the table. "Hana, let's go back," Thomas said, pretending to walk away from them.

"Wait no, I'm _very_ interested in that conversation!" She fought. She sat back, and leaned in, as though she were about to reveal top-secret information. "What about the cages? The chains? Bowser is kinky _and_ into BDSM."

Thomas watched them with a forfeiting expression. "I give up. I'm surrounded. I'm never playing Mario Kart again."

"You say that every time I kick your ass anyway," June said. "Sore loser."

"Don't call _me_ a sore loser, huh. You whine every time Hana beats you."

"Which is all the time," Hana butted in.

"Shut up, the girl is a demon on the Mario Kart roads! I've never seen anyone ace the Rainbow Road like that, she's a monster."

Killua arched an eyebrow. "Let me guess. She won't just overtake you. She will shove your car into the void _and then_ overtake you."

June pointed at him. "Yes!"

"Not true," she fought.

Killua smirked, way too amused for his own good. "Tell me everything. Just how much of an annoying ass is she when she plays video games?"

"She's the worst. She's even more of a sore loser than Tom. She won't stop cussing. And she's so _loud_ , gosh," June kept going.

"Oh my God, stop it," she ordered, though she wasn't convincing with her huge grin. "I'm not that bad."

"You're even worse," he said, and she pouted. "You're that ass who takes all the ammo while I kill all the zombies and do all the work! And when we play Mario Bros, you wait for me to jump and you jump on my fucking head to make me drop in the lava, and we're _on the same team_."

Killua laughed, picturing too well all the things June mentioned. "She's unbearable basically."

"Hella annoying," June agreed. "0/10, would not recommend."

"I'm filing for a divorce," she said, crossing her arms like a stubborn child.

"You're the one who accepted to marry him, now you gotta bear with him," Thomas intervened. "Feel my pain."

"What pain? I'm a delight."

A waitress stopped at their tables, putting plates filled with entries on their table. The lights dimmed then, just enough for the dancers, the performers, to come on stage and perform.

"It's starting," June noted.

Killua asked Hana if Sandy was among them, but Sandy would come later, during the last dance. Killua checked the piece they would be dancing on for the last part. Vivaldi's _Four Seasons_ , and Sandy was performing as Summer.

They started eating, applauding when they should, laughing at some of the jokes June threw between the interludes. Throughout the dinner, they also exchanged bits about their lives, listening to the stories Killua told of his travels, or the stories Thomas told of June and Hana behaving like kids—and there were a lot of those.

When they finished eating the main course, the lights brightened and the disk-jockey changed the music, inviting the guests to wait for the dessert. Two men, one carrying a deck of cards and the other a bouquet of white and red roses, started going through the guests' tables.

"What are they doing?" Killua asked, eyeing them with curiosity.

Thomas craned his neck to see them. "Every year they have a game like this. They go through the guests and ask them if they want to challenge them at a card game. I think it's rare that anyone wins."

A smirk stretched on Killua's lips. "Rare, you say?"

"You want to challenge them?" Hana asked, picking a cherry tomato with her fork. "Magnificent Killua wants to prove he's the best?"

"You're one to talk," Thomas said. "Had it been something you didn't suck at, you'd have jumped on the opportunity. 'Please, look at me! I'm the best!'"

She sighed. "Are you trying to scare him away from me?"

"I already know what I'm getting myself into," Killua teased.

The young men arrived, then. One of them spoke with grand manners and a theatrical kind of composure. The other was quieter. "Hello there! Card Games club speaking. How's everyone?"

"Great," June answered. "What about you? Having fun owning everyone?"

The man laughed. "Well, so far, we did own everyone. Would you like to challenge Pierre and me, Rafielo, and, who knows, turn the tables?" He smirked. "Perhaps the beautiful lady?"

(Killua nearly cringed.)

"The lady is good," she replied. "She sucks at card games."

"Ah, that's too bad."

Killua finished his glass of water. "I'll challenge you," he said, sitting up as the men brought chairs to sit at the end of the table.

"Great, let's have some fun. You sound confident," Rafielo eyed Killua, a playful glint in his eyes.

"I am."

Rafielo nodded with approbation. "If you win, you get to take this beautiful bouquet, made by the Association who organized the gala."

Killua's eyes fell on the roses. They were mainly white, but a few blood red roses dotted the silk white bouquet.

He already saw them in Hana's living-room, in her crystal vase on the coffee table, glistening under the lights of her chandelier.

"I'm in."

* * *

Rafielo shuffled a small deck of card. "The game we're gonna play tonight is called _Tarot Africain_ in Françailles," he explained, his accent bumping on the French words. "We'll play with twenty-two cards. The cards go from 1 to 21, 1 being the weakest and 21 the strongest. And the last card…" he showed a card with a star in the corner and a drawing of a man playing a string instrument. "Is a trump card— either 0 or 22 depending on what the player decides—called _Excuse_ , and you will excuse my poor accent."

Hana cracked a smile, watching the three of them get ready for the game. Rafielo sometimes glanced at her—especially when he made a joke— and she couldn't deny she liked the attention.

The second man —Pierre— distributed the cards, until all three players had seven cards. "Each round, the number of cards I will distribute will decrease by one," he explained. "Until we finish with one card and put it on our forehead _without_ looking at it."

She let out a small snicker, glancing at June who was nudging her for her camera. She saw Killua smile a little. "Okay, I get it. What should I do, then?" he said, staring at his cards.

Rafielo explained the rules then, but she didn't pay attention to him. She had always sucked at card games—an outrage for a lover of strategic games and probabilities like her— but the real reason was that Killua looked particularly engrossed in the game, and her brain had decided his serious expression was the most gorgeous and fascinating thing ever.

For a reason; there was an air of power and defiance on his face that was incredibly… sexy. From the determined glint in his eyes to the sheer confidence emanating from him. Confidence was one of her biggest turn-ons, but confidence on _Killua_ , whose intense gaze turned her stomach into a drunk grasshopper, whose touch made her feel like butter in a hot pan, whose laugh made her heart dance the samba on a moving rollercoaster… was quite an experience.

Killua glanced at her then, unleashing the aforementioned samba in her chest when he smirked. He didn't say anything, but she could almost read a cheeky ' _I caught you staring_ ' all over his face. She was starting to feel a little hot.

"Did you get it?" Rafielo asked then, leaning back in his seat.

Killua looked at him, then at his cards, forgetting her shameless staring—much to her relief. "Yeah, I get it. Let's go."

The game started. Rafielo bet he would win four tricks, and Pierre one. Killua thought for a moment, then said he would win one trick. Hana blinked, confused, as to why they were betting anything—had she missed something important while she was indulging in Killua's beautiful face?

"You have to bet on the numbers of tricks you win in each round," Rafielo explained, catching her confusion. "The only thing is, the sum of the bets mustn't be equal to the number of cards in hand—so the last player to bet has an extra constraint."

She nodded, quite pleased that she had understood that, at least. "And how do you win a trick?"

"You place the highest card," Rafielo answered. "If you win too many tricks, you lose. If you don't win enough tricks, you lose too. So it's pretty tricky—and yes I did make that pun," he added, eyeing Pierre with victory.

"Oh, okay," she said. She rested her chin in her hands.

"He's already explained that," Killua then said, placing a card on the table. "Weren't you listening?"

She shivered at his suggestive tone—and his goddamned smooth composure. He made her want to… to… probably kiss him. "I'm clueless with card games," she said. She felt someone hit her foot under the table and caught Thomas pulling the I-didn't-do-this face while June smirked.

(There. They had found something to tease her on. And she had practically served it to them on a silver platter.)

Embarrassed, she looked away, losing herself in a piece of bread near her glass, pulling an expression that she hoped was casual. But naturally, her phone buzzed barely a minute later. Her acting skills worked on everyone, except Thomas. He had this sixth sense that a lot of parents had that whispered to him whenever she was lying. She was convinced that in another life, he had been her father.

She cast a glance at Thomas. _Your phone_ , he mouthed.

She slowly took it, unlocked it—all the while glaring at him— and read his message. 'Is your bread suddenly tastier than your Killua?'

'Fuck you,' she quickly sent, her cheeks burning red. Her dad hadn't been one for dad jokes—he couldn't understand most jokes, let alone tell them— but Thomas and June made up for the lack of lame jokes and parental teasing in her life.

She heard June ask a question to Rafielo, but she had stopped listening to them. The tricks came one after another, cards falling in the center. In the end, Killua and Pierre won the first round, and Rafielo lost.

'I'm not the one you should tell that,' Thomas replied, with a damned smirking emoji. 'There's a very fine-looking Killua next to you (but I think you've noticed)(hell yeah you've noticed so good lmao).'

She bit her cheeks. 'Was it that obvious?'

'You were practically drooling 6_6'

'Well fuck.'

She peeked at Thomas and saw him smile. Killua was concentrated on the game, so that one less thing to worry about. 'You're endearing,' Thomas said. 'You know, he was almost glowing.'

'Killua?' she typed, quickly checking he wasn't looking.

'Yeah. He seemed to like the attention.'

'Whatever.'

'Dude, I'm sitting in front of him. I see the guy. He likes it when you give him attention. He's always looking when you're not looking.'

She flushed, locked her phone, and glared some more at Thomas—who was acting innocent. But as she glanced at Killua, she did catch him looking at her from the corner of his eyes. And he smirked then, his eyes still calm, still self-possessed, still _smooth_. If he was embarrassed to have been caught, he didn't give that impression at all.

Meanwhile, the samba burst in her chest, and there was a tango in her belly, and a dreamy waltz in her head—and a card game on the table that she decidedly wasn't paying attention to.

(How frustrating.)

She refrained a sigh and watched the game instead, promising that she would get back to Thomas for messing with her already messy hormones.

Yet, as the game kept unfolding, she realized that… Thomas wasn't necessarily wrong. Killua did play more accurately when she was watching—from the little she understood. Now that she was pretending to understand the game, he was focused, and again, the sharp edge of his serious profile struck her.

Curious, she leaned closer to peek at his cards, wondering why he was that serious—and breathed in his beguiling white musk perfume then. He had the 21, as well as a bunch of small cards.

"You see anything to play?" he asked her, swiveling to look at her.

She realized how close they were—if she could, she would get closer, just to drown in his ice blue eyes— but she only blinked. "You _don't_ want me to help. Unless you want to lose."

"Just this trick," he said. And smiled. And her will crumbled. And she grinned back like the giddy, airy fool she was.

"Is it allowed?" she asked Rafielo, who gave a brief nod. He was surely aware it wasn't in Killua's advantage.

She scooted closer to Killua, close enough to feel the warmth of his body. She examined his cards with so much seriousness, as if her life depended on it. She had already forgotten the rules—and it was a strategic game! Shame on her! — but she didn't want him to lose because of her.

Desperate, she rose big puppy eyes to him.

"Trust your instinct," he whispered.

With a little huff, she closed her eyes and randomly pointed toward a card. She opened her eyes.

The 4.

"Okay, watch," he said. He put the 4 on the table.

Pierre put the 3.

And Rafielo the 2.

"Are you serious," Killua said, to Rafielo, who was laughing so hard for some reason Hana couldn't comprehend. "You made me win a trick _with a 4_?"

"Did you lose?" she asked, flashing the same puppy eyes.

"Nah. Not yet." But as the next tricks unfolded, it became obvious that he had lost this round. "There are three rounds left. That's plenty enough for me to win," he added when he saw her face.

"I told you not to trust me."

"But you bring me good luck."

"Lies. I made you lose with a card that shouldn't have made you lose."

"For real," he said, his eyes riveted on the cards. "I win more when you look at my deck."

She thought of Thomas's message and blushed a little. "I'll keep looking then, but I'm not doing anything more."

"Man, that's unfair," Rafielo said. "I'd win more rounds too if a pretty girl was looking at my deck."

She chuckled—Killua didn't. "Sorry. I can only bring good luck to one guy at once." _Let's see if it's good luck_ , she thought.

Killua did win the next two rounds. And since he had won the first round, he had to win the last one to win the game itself. He and Rafielo had won as many rounds—Pierre was falling behind by one round.

Pierre distributed the card. Hana realized with amusement it was the single card round, the one where the players had to put the card on their forehead without knowing what it was.

June swiftly called her, discreetly miming someone taking a picture. She surreptitiously took her camera from her bag and handed it to him. He snapped a picture of Killua with a card on his forehead. Killua smiled like a father catching his children doing something silly—which was basically what June and Hana looked like.

When they had gotten their share of stupid jokes over the Forehead Card Fight, Hana focused back on the game. Pierre had a 12, Rafielo a 20.

Then, she looked at Killua.

He had the weird card, the Excuse.

… Which, if she remembered…

Rafielo sighed. "You gotta be kidding me. I bet zero."

"Same," Pierre said.

… could be both 0 and 22 if the player wanted it to?

"I don't have much of a choice. Zero then," Killua said. He looked at this card and nearly gasped. "Hell yeah," he exclaimed while Rafielo complained.

"How lucky does this guy have to be? The Excuse on the last round? He wins no matter what!" He laughed. "You completely bluffed us. Congrats."

"He won?" June said, looking at the men. "Holy shit, he won, wow, what happened?"

Rafielo got up while clapping, signaling the other tables to clap for the only winner, and Pierre gave Killua the bouquet of roses.

"If you allow me," Rafielo stopped him, picking a rose from the bouquet —a _red_ rose—and handing it to Hana. "For the lady." He then bowed, which made her grin as she thanked him. Then, he and Pierre left after congratulating him one last time. And, well, after Rafielo winked one last time at her —she couldn't stop giggling, especially when she saw Killua's tight expression.

"Wow, you won," Thomas said. His first words since the beginning of the card game—at least out loud, because he definitely hadn't been silent, texting wise. "Sandy will be so psyched when I tell her."

"I bet she'll be," Hana said. "It just went like, bam! And suddenly he'd won." She turned toward him, already forgetting the rose as she beamed at him. " _That's_ my Killua!"

He gave her a crooked smile. The kind of smiles he gave her when she became affectionate. In the Killua language, she had learned that it meant ' _I love what you said, and I'm secretly happy because of it, but I'm getting a bit shy because I precisely like it too much and I don't know how to properly react—so I'm going to be adorable and fry your brain.'_ Eventually, those had become her favorite reactions.

"How did you understand the rules so fast?" Thomas asked. "I didn't get a thing until the last round."

"I still don't get it," June butted in, raising his arm as if to ask for permission to speak.

Killua shrugged. "I like card games. I knew how to play poker when I was six— _ow_ ," he stopped as she lightly punched his shoulder.

"You're a gambler," she started, frowning. "You're a gambler and you have the guts to say you hate math?" Oh, the irony, coming from her, the math-lover-who-really-sucked-at-card-games.

He poked her nose. "Yes, because I don't need math. I'm _that_ awesome."

"You were terribly lucky with that last round, though," Thomas said. "I mean, I sorta understood that you got the best card a player could get?"

"Yeah. I may have lost otherwise."

"Where does that luck even come from?" June said as he nibbled some bread.

Killua didn't answer, shrugging at June, who then turned his attention toward Thomas to bicker with him—like an old married couple.

But then, she felt Killua's gaze on her, and turned to meet his knowing smile.

His words rewound in her mind.

 _You bring me good luck._

* * *

A waiter took their empty plates away, replacing them with desserts.

Hana stared at her dessert, impressed by the swirls of berry sauce decorating the edge of her plate. She dug into her molten chocolate cake, anticipating the wave of chocolate pouring out of the gash.

"This is like an orgasm," Killua said, closing his eyes as he took a bite of cake.

June snorted. "You either love chocolate a lot or need a better sex life."

"My sex life is fine, thanks," he joked.

"It does look like food porn," Thomas noted. "I've never managed to make the chocolate ooze like that."

"That's because you suck," she said. "I do it just fine."

Killua glanced at her, the corner of his lips pulled up. "You'll have to make me taste."

(That sounded suggestive.)

The lights then dimmed again, staying just bright enough for the guests to see their plates.

"The last performance," June noted.

Warm colors flooded the stage, colorful flickers of light roiling on the dancers as they entered the stage together.

 _Spring_ , she realized. Her favorite part of the Four Seasons. A choir of violins led the dancers in a pastoral round, the cheerful rhythm of the _Allegro_ piece limning a soft, bucolic atmosphere. The young women in light frilly dresses spun around, their partners catching their hands from time to time to lead them elsewhere.

Soon, Spring was over, replaced by the fierce violins of Summer. _Presto_. A few women in bright green dresses ran around, covering the dancer who acted as the Sun.

Suddenly, as the violins changed their rhythm, the dancers scattered, revealing the Sun in a golden dress.

Hana beamed when she saw Sandy — _the Sun_ — emerge from the circle of dancers, gorgeous in her dress, her graceful movements depicting a fiery summer. She glanced at Killua, whose expression had barely changed. If she hadn't known him better, she would have unjustly thought that he wasn't impressed.

Thomas, however, had a much more readable expression, his eyes shining with pride for his older sister. And for a reason. Sandy was magnificent, a whirlpool onstage, her long red curls swinging with her light steps, her small feet gliding along the rapid music. Her body was living the music, letting it breath through her slithering movements, every single note pulsing in her dance.

When the violins died and the Sun collapsed, the whole room applauded, a standing ovation for the small young woman who had brought Vivaldi's _Presto_ Summer to life. The Summer dancers skittered away, the Autumn performers replacing them for a pleasant waltz. _Allegro_ , again.

Finally, the Winter dancers marched onstage, for Vivaldi's _Allegro non molto_ Winter piece, whirling around like cold winter breezes.

The room erupted in applause when the performers bowed, thanking their audience. Sandy stood hand in hand with the other main characters, the embodiments of their seasons, bowing deep as people stood for them.

When the applause ceased and the dancers left, Sandy reappeared with a big hoodie —her brother's— on top of her dress. She rushed into her brother's arms, laughing. "I'm so glad you all came!" she said. "Hana!" she called, and Hana hugged her as tight as she could. She hadn't seen Sandy in weeks.

"You were so gorgeous, I was in awe," Hana said, patting her head.

Sandy laughed. "Thanks! I wouldn't have managed without the other dancers, though."

Thomas introduced Killua to her, and she shook his hand, thanking him for coming. Her expression changed from pleasant to excited when her brother told her Killua had won the bouquet.

"You beat Rafielo and Pierre?!" she exclaimed. "That's the best thing ever. I'm so glad you shut their mouth," she said. Rafielo was standing near the backstage, waving at Sandy —who stuck her tongue out at him. "Congrats, you just won against a cheater."

"Don't listen to her," Rafielo said as he came near them, patting Sandy's head. "She's just a sore loser."

"It's a family thing, I assure you," June joked.

Sandy then left with Rafielo, joking together. She waved at her brother before going backstage.

A woman then climbed the stairs to the stage to give a speech about the charity organization that had organized the gala. Another round of applause concluded her speech, longer than any other, and the whole team, including the dancers, thanked the audience once again.

When they were done, the guests started to leave.

* * *

 **Monday, April 20th**

 **12:31 A.M.**

The gala had smoothly ended about half an hour ago, with Sandy's gorgeous performance. Even Killua, who had seen his share of amazing dancers during in all the parties he had been invited to, had been amazed.

Hana had brought Thomas and June back to their building and had then driven back to their own.

After some small talk about the dreadfully random weather and a few bad jokes—their specialty—they stopped in front of the elevator.

Both of them were watching the glass door of the back gardens.

"I don't wanna go back yet," she said.

"Me neither."

They exchanged a knowing gaze. And chuckled together. "The court?" she suggested.

"The court. Let's say hi to Pickles."

Without waiting any longer, they went out, their hands brushing while they opened the door. A flicker of warmth lurched in his arm, a delicious thrill shaking in his body. How he wanted to take her hand, to feel her long fingers intertwined with his own.

 _Here you go, cheesy Killua is back_ , he mentally groaned.

"Killua?"

He rose his eyes, meeting with her own. She had closed her coat on her dress, but flowers still peeked at the hem, above the sleek black of her tights. "Huh, you were saying?"

"Did you enjoy the gala?"

He caught up with her. "Yeah. Your friends are cool too."

"Told you."

He smirked, glancing at her. "Fun fact: June is totally my type."

She glared at him. "Don't say that in front of Thomas," she said, though there was an edge in her voice.

 _Jealousy_ , he realized, with interest —and satisfaction. Some torturously pleasant satisfaction. And vengeance as well. A petty one. "Tall, fit, with a muscular built, bright eyes, nice hair. And wit." He bit his lip when he saw her frown. "Too bad he's in a relationship," he went on.

The flicker of jealousy had disappeared from her face, though she was pouting. "First, you refuse to dance with me, then you gush on my best friend's boyfriend." She gave him a long look. "You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?"

He gave her an innocent look. "Me? Nah." He gestured to the court as he pushed the portal and let her in. "I refused the dance because I had a much better one in mind. Under the moonlight, in the court we met at. _Our_ court."

"God, how corny. And what about the music?"

He looked through his phone, browsing through his songs. "… Okay, I hadn't thought this through. Do you think we could waltz to Nicki Minaj?"

She burst out laughing, and he melted a little then.

"Let's just sit and talk instead. I appreciate the offer, though."

They sat down, and he leaned back, extending his legs in front of him and crossing his ankles. Pickles was licking her paws in a bush, near the portal. The night was chilly, the air just crisp enough to slap a sense of awareness on his face. He barely felt the cold, but he knew it was out there, numbing his fingers, filling his lungs with the earthy scent of after-rain.

He sat up and took the bouquet he had put next to him. He held it out to her, unsure of how else to do it. "Here. For you."

She blinked. "For me? But you just won them."

His expression became playful. "I did. But since I'm a giant awkward and shy nerd madly crushing on you, unsure of how to make you come around my pure feelings, I spent the whole gala rehearsing the moment I confess to you, under the moonlight, at the place we met. But then I won the bouquet and it seemed like an amazing opportunity. And so, I spent the last part of the gala wondering how I'd give the flowers to you."

She didn't need to know that the last sentence was true. Or that he hadn't come up with anything and had completely improvised.

She giggled. "Okay, so it's part of our corny love story script. We stopped when I, the crush, fall for you because of how amazing your view on love is. But since you're a clueless nerd, you have no idea." She stopped to think. "Episode 2, the Gala. What else is in the script?"

"Hmm." He held out the flowers to her. "You take the flowers, first."

She did. "What do I say?"

"You say, _"wow, they smell so good. Thank you, I love them."_ and then you grin — the Hana Grin."

"Wow! They smell so good! Thank you, I love them!" she repeated, though with more enthusiasm than him, and grinned. "I could seriously kiss you right now."

He frowned. "That's not part of the script," he noted.

Her eyes brushed his lips. For a split second, but they did nonetheless. Burning his skin with her galvanizing gaze. "Isn't it?" she teased, her lips stretching in a flirtatious smile. There was something incredibly attractive about her, in that moment, seduction laced in the curve of her lips, percolating through her half-lidded eyes.

That kind of gaze worked too well on him, a crack in his perfect composure. For a split second, his thoughts jostled together in an incoherent mess before he focused back. "I'm not one to refuse a kiss."

"That can't be the nerd talking. He's too awkward to be that bold."

To which, he just smirked. "Consider that it's Killua talking, this time." He looked at the flowers. "And that it's also Killua's gift."

She chuckled, the sound light and silvery. The cheekiness faded from her face, replaced instead by genuine gratitude. "Thanks. I do love them." She looked at him, her eyes warm with affection. "They will look awesome in my crystal vase."

 _I knew it,_ he smiled.

His phone suddenly buzzed. He reached for it, reading the message he had just received from Leorio.

'Yo, kiddo. Tomorrow noon, would you grace us with your majestic presence?'

He shook his head in disbelief, a smile playing on his lips. 'Sure. I dare hope the meal will be on the par with my eminent taste buds.'

'Oh it will. And thanks; we'll all be happy to see your annoying ass.'

'Of course you'll be,' Killua replied. He imagined Maya chiding Leorio for his tone, Mina right behind giving him a thumb up while her sister wasn't looking. Partners in crime. Mina, Maes, and Leorio, three big kids Maya had to put up with.

His smile died. Two, now.

"Killua? You're okay?"

He looked at her. "Yeah, sorry. Leorio is inviting me for lunch. We were just being childish."

She tilted her head. "You're pretty close, aren't you?"

"I guess. We grew a lot closer within the last years." He gave a crooked smile. "He actually met Maya thanks to me."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I was sitting at a café, waiting for him, and she just sat in front of me. Like that. It turned out she was being pursued by some stalker and, for his own sake, she was trying to avoid him and sat at the first café she passed in front of. Then Leorio arrived. That's how she met him."

"Original," she commented. "And quite adorable, if not for the stalker. She should have broken his arm."

"Oh, don't worry. She did. A week later she couldn't bear with him anymore, and kicked his ass."

"Good."

He scoffed, remembering the fear on the stalker's face when tiny Maya held him face against the table, twisting his arm behind his back. "Maya looks sweet, but she's incredibly fierce. You don't want to see her angry. Even I get scared of her when she pulls the about-to-be-angry-at-you face—and she doesn't even reach my shoulder."

Silence fell then, and he glanced at her, confused. He saw her looking at her hands, her expression sullen. "How is she?" she asked, guilt thick in her voice.

He sat up, alarmed. How had the mood dropped so quick? "She's good. Could be better, but probably better than you think."

Still, she stayed quiet. "How is she handling the stress?"

He frowned, unsure of what she was trying to say. "She's supported, Hana. She's not alone." He turned toward her. "Look at me."

She didn't move, but eventually sighed and swiveled. "Yeah?"

"You've done everything you could do." But she didn't seem convinced. She escaped his eyes. "Hey?" he called until she looked at him again. "Tell me what's wrong."

She shook her head. "Nothing is wrong."

"That's bullshit and we both know it," he said, but she was stubborn and refused to meet his eyes. "Hana, please," he called her again, his voice barely a whisper. "I want to help you. I really do. But I can't if you don't let me help."

The pained expression in her eyes when she finally turned toward him struck him deep. The guilt that swam in her eyes, mixed with the indecision crumbling under her need to confess. She said her next words with such a small voice he thought she hadn't spoken. "I lied." She turned away. "I lied to her."

"About what?"

She shuddered. "About the Whisper and the curse."

"Explain."

"She asked me if anyone had survived his curse. She asked me who had survived it. And I—" her voice died. "I told her I didn't know."

"But you do."

She gave a weak nod. "I do."

The puzzle pieces all connected. His premonition had been right, unfortunately so. "You're the survivor," he said, putting a name on her trauma. Voicing this thought he had had for a long time. How he wished he had been wrong. How he wished that just for once he had been mistaken.

She didn't deny it. "I didn't want her to know that—" She took a deep breath. "That I had survived when her brother had died."

He swallowed, a lump in his throat. He was only now beginning to see just how damaged she was. The cracks he thought he had seen behind her pretense were abysses.

He shifted on his seat, moved by a need to support her. She looked like she was about to spill, from all her stress and her fear and her guilt. He gently reached for her face, cupping it with one hand, turning it toward his own. And he peered deep into her eyes. Deep into the abyss she tried to conceal.

"Talk to me."

* * *

"I don't know how to start… I feel like everything is so confused in my head."

Her voice was wobbling. She hated the sound of it. As though it would spill out of her in fits of sobs.

"Start with the beginning. I have time."

She nodded. Breathed in deep.

And the words rushed out of her.

"Three years ago, then. Barely a year after I had come back. I took the Whisper's case and chased after him, like many others." An ironic smile broke on her face. "I was exactly like those hunters I'm running away from. Delusional, overambitious, and overconfident." Her voice died then. Somewhere through her confession, she found his hand, without thinking, and clasped it. As tightly as she could. Her anchor to the real world. "Except I wasn't alone."

His hand squeezed hers, easing the creases on her conscience for a moment. "A friend?"

She nodded, weakly. "His name was Feri." Her throat tightened. She saw in his eyes that he had understood, that he hadn't missed the 'was' that changed everything. "He died during the mission." She choked on the next words. Couldn't bring herself to say them.

 _And it was my fault._

Starting from that moment, everything happened in a blur. Perhaps because she had started crying. Or because she had so many things to say, so many things she needed to let go of, so many things she had kept buried, that she couldn't keep track of them all. "I couldn't save him, and he died on me. I don't even remember what happened after that. It's all flashes of memories that sting here and there. I was flanked on a hospital bed and everything hurt and it was so painful and my friend was dead. For weeks. I just remember being a giant wound and my whole body burnt in and out and —"

"Shh. You're fine now," he reminded her, cutting through the visions. Her shelter.

She was faintly aware that his thumb was caressing the back of her hand, soothing, gentle. She took a few deep breaths, working on slowing her breathing. "Eventually I survived. I don't know why, or how, or what the fuck kept me alive, but I didn't die, even if it felt like I would every day."

A sob caught in her throat. She tried to swallow it back, refusing to let go of the next words.

"Don't hold it in," he then said. "It's the nastiest thing you can do to yourself. Trust me."

His words broke her last remnants of resistance. "I survived, but Feri died," she managed, her resolve crumbling as sobs shook her body. She started babbling something unintelligible while he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in his embrace, pulling her close so she didn't drift away.

And she cried there, for what seemed to her like a long time. Just spilling everything she had kept locked inside, in his arms, nuzzled against him. He held her tight, his hand drawing circles on her back while she kept trying to explain that, yes, Feri was dead, and no, she wasn't quite dead, and she knew she wasn't making sense anymore but now that she was talking she wouldn't stop.

When she ran out of tears, her back still shook with a few dry sobs. He stroked her back, soothing the last sobs away, chasing the last ounces of tension away from her body, until she melted with relief against him.

He didn't say anything. He simply kept her close, one hand clasping her own, the other on her back. "How long have you been holding it in?" he finally said.

She didn't answer. She knew it had been a month, a month denying that the Whisper was back and that she was still traumatized and that she worked under bone-crushing stress. Instead, she pulled away, no matter how much she wanted to stay against him. "Sorry for this," she said, drying her eyes, taking a tissue and blowing her nose. _Thank God for waterproof makeup_. "That was pretty pathetic." She let out a weak nervous laugh. Embarrassed, deeply so, but so light and relieved.

"I'm glad you've opened up to me."

She avoided his eyes.

"I'm glad you trust me enough to open up," he reworded. "I really am."

She looked at him then. Realization dawned upon her that she had indeed opened up, so much that her dam had broken and she had cried her eyes out —on his shirt. "Thank you," she breathed, a tad bit uncomfortable. She had gone out of control; she hadn't planned to stain his shirt with a pool of tears. She felt so exposed, almost naked.

And yet, she felt so good. In that moment, she really, really did think she could kiss him.

"Friends don't need to thank each other for things like that," he said. "I mean what I said. I'm here for you."

She looked away, feeling her cheeks burn with embarrassment —and, undeniably, fondness. She was usually the one giving him random confessions. She wasn't used to it being the other way around. He rarely said anything affective out of the blue.

She needed to change the topic before she was too awkward to function properly. "Let's talk about something funny instead," she suggested and saw in his sympathetic smile that he would let her get away with it —this time.

"I overheard a conversation last time. Something about pigeons coming from hell. Your opinion on the topic?" he helped her, and she held back a sigh of relief. She was so thankful for him making it easier for her.

"I definitely agree. One of those spawns of Satan shat on me once, right before a meeting with a client. I had to arrive late to get rid of the… ew."

"You? Late? Wow. That pigeon knew where to hit."

"They know everything, those little shits."

Silence fell then.

She tilted her head back, her uneasiness slowly going away. She stared at the stars as if it were the first time, and they were brighter than they had ever been. As though the tears had washed through her, and suddenly she saw better, smelled better, felt better. She recognized the Soledad in the maze of constellations and thought of his tattoos. Scattered on his back, his chest, his shoulder. That same shoulder she had cried against. That shoulder that had supported her while she broke down and folded on herself.

 _How many stars in the Universe?_

She jolted upright. "You wanna see something funny?" she asked, but she was already on her feet, tugging at his sleeve, nudging him to stand up. She herself wasn't sure how she could go from tearful to jolly so fast.

"Sure?"

He followed her to the far end of the court, the wall on which the hoop was mounted. She squatted, moved a few leaves, pushed vines away, until an inscription showed.

 **How many stars are there in the universe?**

There it was.

She showed the inscription, clumsily carved in thick letters. "I wrote this before I left for the exam. I was having one of my moments of insignificance. I was one of many who sought the Hunter title, and I was super nervous. I had seen the figures and I thought I wouldn't make it." She ran a finger on the rough surface, plunged back in time, to one night she had decided to come to the court for one last time. Just in case she never saw it again. "So I wrote this. To remind myself that in the end, all these examinees are just as insignificant as I am. And since they're as insignificant as I am, I have as much chance to succeed as they do." She scrunched her nose. "Then I came back to the court two years later, and someone had replied to me."

He was silent, his eyes stuck on the wall with an unreadable expression. "One: me."

She flinched, his words sending shockwaves through her nerves. She removed the vines covering the second inscription, to make the small stone conversation complete.

 **How many stars are there in the universe?**

 _One: me._

A blast of wind swept her bangs, shoving them in her eyes. She pushed them and stared at Killua with wonder. "You wrote this?"

He bent over and ran a finger along the inscription carved in light letters. "I did."

A grin took over her face. Uncontrollable. "You're the smartass who ruined my fake-deep inscription?"

He smiled. "I am."

She let go of the vines. "You mean, we met before we really met?"

"We did." He stood up and leaned against the wall. Then, he sighed "You're turning my life into a cheesy romance with cheesy scenarios. It's incredible. I'm not even sure that corny story we joke about is fake anymore." He shifted, right when her brain bumped on the word 'romance'. He glanced at her, his blue gaze so gentle. "Not that I mind."

"Is that the shy nerd talking or Killua talking?"

He remained silent. Peering in her features, searching for something she didn't know. "It's Killua talking." His eyes flew to the inscriptions. Their first unaware conversation carved in stone. "I'm glad I met you." Her breath caught. "You're a precious friend, Hana."

Her heart lurched at these words. They rewound in her mind, so soothing, so sweet to her ears. Balm on her wounds. She stared, speechless, at his beloved face. With the moonlight reflecting in his blue eyes, painting the sharp edge of his cheekbones, embracing his face with an ivory glow. With the fondness pouring through his smile, unabashed, unrestrained, uninhibited. With the softness all over his face, the gratefulness, the tenderness.

She stared, and she realized.

 _That's it._

She breathed in. He changed the topic and started talking about how Gon had accidentally gotten himself a pet. They were in a village, and some dog had gone missing, but when Gon found him and brought him back to his master, the dog refused to let go of Gon, and eventually started following him everywhere. She chuckled and listened to another story about Gon, entranced by everything Killua said. She never wanted him to stop talking. And she figured, somehow, she never wanted to stop getting to know him.

 _That's it._

She told him about the time she had swung so hard on the swing, in kindergarten, that she had flown and fallen on her chin. It had been a perfect mess; she had broken a tooth and her chin had bled all over her clothes. He laughed through her story when she told him that even with a dead tooth and a ruined chin, she had cheered over her little flight. His laughter bubbled in her chest, shook a thousand nerves in her body.

She showed him the scar on her chin, then. When he touched it, feather-light fingertips brushing her skin, her stomach twisted and folded on itself, her insides knotted together, her heart waltzed wildly.

 _That's it._

He joked about her child self being a tiny monkey, and she giggled because of how accurate it was. On their way to the building, she told him that once, for Halloween, when she was barely five, she had refused to wear anything but a gorilla costume, and her grandma had shot daggers at her mother for not 'raising her like a proper lady'. Her grandma had been traditional in that aspect, one of her few flaws, but she had never managed to convince Hana's mother to set traditional gender roles on her daughter. In the elevator, she showed him Baby Gorilla Hana on her phone, hanging around her father's neck, and he laughed so hard she thought she would liquefy. She didn't remember him laughing so much, before. But she really didn't mind.

 _That's it._

The elevator stopped at her floor. She bid him goodbye, fighting the urge to hug him before they parted. He held the elevator open for a moment while they planned to meet on the next day, at the court, as usual. She didn't miss the way he tried to prolong their conversation, but she didn't know if he had noticed that she was doing just the same. Stretching her time with him, holding to whatever second she had to bask in his presence.

He finally left after a dorky joke —she could never have guessed he was _that_ dorky— and she walked alone to her apartment, barely getting used to the silence. When she closed the door behind her, she leaned against it, filled her lungs with as much air as she could. She really could use some oxygen to untangle the mess in her head.

She filled her crystal vase with water and put the flowers inside, placing the vase in the middle of the coffee table. Delicately, she brushed the silky petals, white and red roses alike.

 _That's it._

She couldn't stop thinking about him. Just as if her mind had decided that, this night, like every night since who-knew-when, there would be on the program Killua's smile and Killua's gaze and Killua's laugh and Killua's well-kept nerdy and dorky side and just… just Killua.

She grabbed her phone. _That's it_. She opened the last conversation she had had with Thomas, typed a frantic message, and sent it. Then, she reread it, her heart thrumming in her ears, her fingers feverish.

'That's it. Tom, I'm completely lost right now and at the same time I'm the happiest I've ever been and suddenly a lot of things make sense to me but at the same time nothing does. I mean, that's it.

'I think I've just realized it, but I've had hints all along, but I just admitted it to myself (right now, right here, I literally just realized) but I don't what to do with that information, especially that I don't know if I can handle the feelings and all the things that go with it, and, and just. Just. Wow? I didn't even know I could still experience something like that. It's the weirdest thing.

'I don't make sense. I can just picture you squinting at your phone like "what the hell, why the wall of text? What the fuck is she saying?" and I'm so sorry but I can't answer that question because I don't know. I just don't know. I can't think straight. I feel like I've been drunk and then sent in space and then drunk again and then stuck on a rollercoaster for a couple hours and God I'm so lost right now and I can't focus on anything (or almost). But Tom, I think… I mean, no, I don't think. I'm sure. Only thing I'm sure of, actually. But I'm 100%, 200%, perhaps even 1,000,000% sure of it.

'I'm crushing hard on Killua.'

* * *

 **10:45 A.M.**

Hana had finished her shift earlier. Since Aleon was back to his room —again, as she had noticed — she had the whole day for her. Or well, for her work. But before working, she wanted to drop by and see Thomas and June.

She parked her car near their building. She entered it and climbed to the ninth floor. She stopped in front of their door and started spamming the doorbell until her finger got numb from it. She giggled when June shouted from inside. "I heard you alright, Hana!" He opened the door. "Yo," he greeted as she hugged him.

"Yooo."

He chuckled, pushed the door to close it and hugged her back. "Feels good to be that missed."

They broke the hug. "How are you?" she asked.

"Heh, good. Working on a song."

"So cool! Can I listen?"

"… When I get somewhere, sure?" he laughed. "I can't seem to focus today."

"Inspiration isn't a constant resource."

"Unfortunately…" he grabbed her shoulders. "Prepare your camera. There's a new pose for the Kamabookra."

"Seriously?" she whispered. "How does he find new reading positions after all this time?"

"Heh, no idea. Clearly he has more inspiration than I do."

She took her camera from her bag and followed June to the bedroom. As soon as she was inside, she snapped a picture of Thomas, lying on the bed with his feet up along the wall.

When Thomas realized she was here, he groaned and let the book he was reading fall on his face. "God, no. What do you even do with all these pictures?" he asked as she checked the photo.

"I'm gonna send them to some porn industry. They wouldn't turn down a sexy nerd down for some bed action," she replied. June snickered when he saw the photo. He gave her a thumbs-up and she winked at him.

"Hilarious. I love your sense of humor, Hana," Thomas said.

"You love all of me." She put her bag on the desk chair, knelt on the bed and threw herself on Thomas.

He let out a strangled sound. "Goddammit." He laughed.

"Hi," she greeted.

"Hi."

She sat up. "What were you even doing with your feet up? Defying gravity? Supporting a ghost? Pilates? Yoga?"

"My feet hurt."

June snorted, pulling a string of his guitar. "Look who calls us dorks after that."

"I know right? What did you even think, some Feet Fairy perched on the ceiling would come down to help?" she said.

"It did help," Thomas argued. "Until you flopped on me, that is."

"Why don't you just ask your marvelous boyfriend for a foot massage?"

Thomas rolled eyes. "June sucks at massages."

"That's not what you were saying when I—" June started.

"Shhhh. Say no more."

She laughed. "I get the idea." She glanced at June. He was flipping through some sheets, focused on their content. "You'd think a guy who rocks the guitar would be good with his hands." He made a face at her.

"Oh he is, that's not the issue," Thomas replied. "Just not massages. I'd rather have one from a steamroller."

"Rude," June mumbled.

She scrunched her nose. "True love."

"Fpeaking of which," June started, a sheet of paper between his lips. He took it and put it on the table. "How's it going with White Hair Prince Charming?"

"Killua was his name," Thomas corrected.

"Whatever. He had white hair and he was hot."

Thomas glared at him. But he turned away when he saw June flash a cheeky smile. "Yeah, what's up with Killua?" He asked, his knowing gaze making her a tiny bit embarrassed.

"What do you mean 'what's up'? Nothing. We see each other every once in a while."

"Hmmm." Thomas smirked. She could almost read his thoughts when he looked at her like that. ' _Not what you were saying in your text, is it?'_ "Every once in a while? You mean every night?"

"Wow, slow down," June said. "Let them hold hands first. The girl hasn't had a real crush since the Black Plague."

"It was _two years ago_ ," she corrected.

"That's what I said."

"He's right, in a way. It's been a long time since you told us about a real crush. And I'm not talking about all the guys you've dated," Thomas added before she could say anything.

She couldn't exactly deny that. It _had_ been a long time since the last time she liked someone. As in, really liked. The kind of liked when she couldn't get enough of a person and cared so, so much about them and couldn't wait to see them and couldn't even control her face muscles when she saw them and just flashed the most ridiculously huge smiles whenever he was around her. With all the physical symptoms too —goosebumps, shivers, sudden waves of heat, formula-1-heart, uncontrollable blushes, and damned urges to hold him and kiss his lips and his neck and touch him and cuddle him _and more_ … The kind of completely cheesy, sappy, deliciously hot like. Her _favorite_ type of like.

She had liked the guys she had dated, to a certain extent, but it wasn't the same 'like', and it hadn't lasted. She might have had ephemeral crushes for them, perhaps the space of a kiss or the time to marvel at their pretty smiles. But it was short-lived, and it hadn't elicited all this joy and this dread and this worry from her. All these questions and this doubt, but also this huge curiosity because she wanted to know everything about him, including the sides he didn't want to show everyone. The last boy she had liked that much was Kai.

Which scared her a bit, because it had not ended well and she had lost one of her best friends. She didn't want to lose Killua. Not ever. He was a precious friend.

 _You're a precious friend, Hana._

"I guess you could be right," she said, carefully picking her words because a part of her still couldn't believe it. _She liked Killua!_

"No, I _am_ right. But I think it's a good thing, this time." Thomas tilted his head toward June. "Even June thinks so."

"You didn't discuss my love life, did you?"

"Nah. But you see, as your friends, Tom and I worry a tiny bit about your scattered love life."

"Please, one worried dad is enough. I don't need two more."

"It's true, though. It's been so long since you've had a…" Thomas paused. "Healthy crush. As in, not something fleeting, to fill a void."

She looked away. "True enough," she admitted.

"Plus, White Hair seems nice."

"Killua," Thomas corrected. "Or the hot guy, as you prefer."

June flashed white teeth at him. "Definitely my type," he provoked, and laughed when both Thomas and Hana glared at him. "Okay, okay. Not touching the Killua. But he does seem nice."

"Kai wasn't a bad person," she said.

"But he wasn't good for you. You were miserable," Thomas argued. "At least this new relationship of yours seems healthy."

"You're speaking as if I were already dating him."

June tapped on his guitar. "I give it a month, maximum, and you'll tell us he's an amazing kisser."

"We haven't held hands yet!"

"Oh. My bad. A month and you'll have fucked him against a wall."

" _Oh my God_." She threw a pillow at him as he howled with laughter.

Thomas shook his head. "What about your cases, by the way? Did you find anything?"

She immediately froze. She hadn't told him yet that she had _done it again_. "Um."

He narrowed his eyes. _He knows_. "What happened?"

June watched them, though he looked like he wasn't sure what to say. "Anything wrong?"

She sat correctly, her hands on her lap. "I got the confirmation that—" she hesitated. "The Whisper is back."

Thomas was silent, but she saw in her eyes that he was torn between smacking her for not telling him and fearing for her well-being. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She fidgeted with her fingers. "I didn't want to bother you."

June hopped off the chair. "I'm gonna make some tea," he said. "I'll be right back."

Thomas cast him a thankful look. He had surely left to give them some closure.

As soon as June was out, Thomas turned back to her. "How many times do I have to tell you? Even in the middle of the night. I mean it."

She couldn't look at him. "I know."

His gaze softened. "It's him, right?"

"Him?" she repeated, and stopped escaping his gaze.

"Killua. The one who helped you." As she nodded, he kept going. "It's good that he was there, though I wish you had told me too."

"I hadn't told him anything," she corrected. "We live in the same place, and go to the same court. He just noticed I had stopped coming and…" She paused, unsure of how to put it. "Helped me out of it."

It. The numbness. The days spent with vodka and fake smiles.

Thomas nodded. "You have no idea how glad I am that he was there." He frowned. "I don't know how long you'd have avoided me if he hadn't found you. Most likely until you couldn't hide it anymore. Like last time."

She flinched. She knew what he was referring to. The last time she had isolated herself. She had gotten so drunk that she had made herself sick, and had called him out of misery and fear. He had come in the middle of the night and had held her while she cried, had held her hair when she threw up and had washed her face, had given her water until she felt better. A pang of guilt hit her. She remembered his face in the morning, one of the few clear memories she had. Tired and worried, his eyes still red with tears.

She hated being the reason for his tears.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I don't want to worry you."

"I'm more worried by your silence. You trust me to tell you when I'm feeling shitty, I trust you to do the same. Please."

"Okay," she simply said. No promise, because she didn't like promising when she wasn't sure she could do it. "I'll try. I mean it."

He was quiet. Then, he sighed. "I'm gonna get jealous of Killua. You trust him more than you trust me."

She cracked a smile. "That's not true, and you know it. You're just complaining."

"What I do best, right?"

"Nope," June came back with a plate and three mugs full with steaming tea that he put on the desk. "What you do best is me."

Hana giggled, while Thomas buried his head in his hands. "Please remind me why I fell for you?" he asked.

June gestured toward himself. "All of this."

Hana rose her arms toward him, asking for a hug. "You're the coolest!" she exclaimed. He hugged her at this moment, tightly.

"I am! And so are you!" Then, as they broke the hug, he turned to Thomas. "And you're not that uncool."

"Thanks. I'm moved." Thomas crossed his arms. "Why don't I get any hug?"

"You want a hug?" June beamed, kneeling on the bed and pulling Thomas into a hug.

But Thomas fought back. "Hell no! I just wanted to complain!"

"Admit it, you love my hugs," June said, kissing his cheek in a more tender manner than his jokes suggested.

"No," Thomas argued, though he was smiling and had given up pushing his boyfriend away.

"Go ahead, make out," Hana said. "I'm definitely not feeling like the third-wheel."

June laughed. "Bring the Killua to keep you company."

"Why _the_ Killua? He's not a Pokémon," she said.

"But you do have to catch him," June joked back. "Show him all your qualities and he will fall for you right away."

She chuckled. "Aww, you're so sweet, June. But I'm not showing him my boobs. Yet."

"Yet," Thomas repeated.

June nodded, seemingly satisfied with that answer. "Soon enough," he said, holding one finger up. "A month."

* * *

 **Wednesday, April 22nd**

 **4:45 P.M.**

She was trying to look professional while her boss went through the bar when her phone vibrated in her pocket. She waited for her boss to disappear, and quickly checked who it was.

Killua.

She opened the message, but refrained a laugh when she saw its content.

'( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)'

She typed a quick reply. 'Are you horny or what?'

'Crude. No I just wanted to know if you were coming to the court tonight'

'I'm coming ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)'

He didn't type anything, and she checked during that moment if her boss was coming back. 'Hana no,' he replied. 'Lenny doesn't look good in your messages'

'Are you more concerned by me stealing your Lenny than me telling a crude joke?'

'I don't mind the crude joke ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)'

'Pfft. I'll be there.'

'Good. Glad that you're coming for me Hana ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)' He paused, then typed something else. 'go back to work now you bad bartender'

She rolled her eyes. 'See you tonight, Lenny.'

She shoved her phone in her pocket, a light feeling fluttering in her chest. Joy? Excitement? Fondness? Who cared. She liked Killua. She was crushing on him, feeling younger than she had ever felt, and she would see him that night.

Yazel whirled in, humming _Make a man out of you_ as he took a cocktail. "Your fault," he muttered when she raised an eyebrow at him. She shrugged, then, turning back to her cocktail-making, picturing Killua's delicious lips while she worked. It drove her forward, in a way. Killua's lips, Killua's abs, Killua's ass. Kissing his lips, or his abs. Or his ass. At least time passed quickly when she filled her head with uncatholic thoughts, now more freely than ever since she had admitted to herself that she had feelings for him.

But obviously, this wouldn't be Hana's life if the gods hadn't opted for another way to make time pass quickly. A very efficient way, truly, as it would considerably alter her perception of time, perhaps even erase it entirely.

The side-effects of this 'more efficient way'? Not much. Just a few deep bruises and blood-curling terror.

A commotion alerted Hana. A glass broke on the floor, and a waitress screamed, shoved against a table. Hana rushed to the crowd circling the cause of the commotion, her heart nearly stopped.

Aleon.

Aleon was standing there, his eyes glassy, his breathing ragged. A wild look on his face and blood on his hand. The waitress's blood, Hana realized with horror, when she saw he had scratched her so deep her arm was bleeding.

 _What the hell is happening?_

Was it one of his aggressive drunk moments?

But as she looked at his wild eyes, his way too _conscious_ eyes, she realized it was worse than that.

And she was right.

He broke into a cry, toppled on the ground by some invisible force. The clients ran away, screaming, going as far as they could from him while he tossed and turned on the floor.

Quickly, Hana helped the woman up.

"What's happening?" Yazel asked her, panicked eyes riveted on Aleon's crawling form.

"I don't know, I just saw him scream," she explained. "Are you alright?" she asked the woman.

The waitress nodded. "I don't know what I did, he just lurched at me," she tried, but yelled and ran in Yazel's arm when Aleon's body arched backward, hitting the table.

"I'm gonna take care of him," Hana said. "You bring her in a safe place."

"Are you insane?! You're coming with me!" he yelled, but he was already moving away from her.

She would have replied if she could. But before she could say anything, she had been thrown on the ground, a furious mass on her back tearing at her skin.

She groaned when her chest hit the floor, wriggling away from Aleon's reach. She managed to roll on the floor and kneel him in the face. He fell backward, dazed for a moment, just long enough for Hana to throw herself on top of him, rolling him over, trapping his hands in his back and blocking him with her knee on his back.

But he was far from being fazed. He tried to escape her grip, his frantic movements too similar to those of a murderer she had caught not so long ago. Bursting with rage and inhuman strength, the kind of strength a pleasant businessman who knew nothing about nen should not possess.

And yet, in that moment, nen flowed through him.

She tightened her grip on his wrist, trying to shout some sense into his skull, but he was out of his mind. He suddenly screamed and coiled, moaned in _pain_ , and tears poured out of his eyes. He was panting, his body relaxing for a moment during which he tried to babble something. "Not me… It's not me… Help me…"

"Sir, sir!" she tried to call him during his moment of consciousness, but terror had seized her in the throat, hurling her back to her own curse, her own days in a hospital bed twisting with indescribable pain. Moments spent hovering between pain and despair.

It was too similar.

It couldn't be a coincidence.

Aleon tensed up. His short glimpse of consciousness faded into sizzling wrath boiling under her firm grip. She knew then that Aleon was gone, and whatever curse had taken over his mind was back. He started wriggling again, with twice was much strength as before. Fury oozed from every single pore of his skin, violence pulsing through his whole being. She gasped when nen burst through him, fueling him with raw power. She loaded her hands with enough nen to counter his own without killing him, to counter the _anomaly_ that his nen was, and crashed the edge of her hand on his nape, hard enough to make him pass out. He coughed blood then, and fainted, at last.

She panted, tension seizing her neck. Police sirens resonated outside. Hana removed her tie, planning to tie it around his wrists until the police arrived with proper handcuffs.

However, at this moment, the improbable happened. The world tumbled down. Her back hit the floor, her whole body collapsing backward. Her skull banged against the marble.

 _What the…?_

Right above her, Aleon. Nen flowed through him, again. Stronger than ever. Stronger than before. Enlivening his sobbing body with a force he didn't want, a fury that scared him but controlled him.

Somehow, he had awoken.

Somehow, his 'nen' had grown stronger.

But when his hand moved toward her, all her thoughts shut down. A deafening silence filled her head, disconnecting her from reality. Memories rewound one by one, then all at once, tearing through the silence with her heavy breath. And finally, panic seeped through every inch of her body, in every crack and every crevice. Suffocating her. Spilling in her whole being.

Aleon was reaching for her.

His hand was open, dangerously near, dangerously nearing.

And right on his palm, mocking her with its graceful petals, its beautiful swirling stamens, a flower.

An amaryllis.

* * *

 **A/N:** Yay. A cliffhanger. You totally didn't see that coming. But yeah, it's quite a little twist right? Aleon comes back in the scenery and everything is confusing and damn, what does that author have in mind? Answer available next chapter. It's not random, and yes, it's been planned since the beginning.

So, one thing I love about this chapter is that there are a lot of things in it I had already thought about three years ago, so it's like a patchwork of sparse ideas I've had in three years. The whole gala? I had this idea two years ago on my way to my classmate's apartment, to work on a group project, at night. The whole 'stars in the universe' cheesy thing? On my way to college, about six months ago. Aleon doing this? This is so old. Like, planned since chapter 1. Which was written a year ago. So it feels great to write these ideas.

Oh, also, Tarot Africain is a game I love playing, though I suck. It's really fun to play :')

Anyway, **what did you think about the chapter?** About Hana's feelings of failure? About the gala? About Thomas and June? About the fluff, the breakdown, the cheese, the CRUSH? **What was your favorite moment?** Tell me everything! I'd love to know what you thought! Every feedback is dear to me. Even if it's just a few words, it counts, and it drives me forward.

Next chapter is called _**Self-destruct**_ and the cliffie gives you a nice overview of it. I promise you'll have all the answers about Aleon there.

See you soon and stay awesome! Bye!


	12. Self-destruct

**A/N:** Hi guys! How have you been?

So here is the promised chapter with some answers (I do say, some). I remember it took me some time to write it because there were scenes I was too lazy to write, but one of those scenes was actually written a year ago so I'm happy it made it here!

On the news side, chapter 15 is almost done. I've got two scenes to finish writing, and I've already written a good part of them.

On the random side, I missed a Pikachu that was literally a few meters away from me and I'm still pissed about it (IT DESPAWNED TOO SOOOOOOON *cries forever). On the bright side, I've got Jolteon, Flareon, and Vaporeon now, so I'm happy.

As always, **thank you all for your support** , your feedback and your follows/favs! Every once in a while, I get a message on my tumblr or a cute review and it never fails to make my day. To all new readers, welcome and thank you for giving this story a chance! To all old readers, thank you so much for sticking with me! **To all of you, I love you**. A lot.

Anyway, I'm gonna shut up now and let you read. Enjoy ;)

* * *

Chapter 11: **Self-destruct**

* * *

All humans have a set of tools to process the world around them, understand it, and possibly find a meaning to the things they experience. Be it their sight, their hearing, their conscience, their feelings or their reason, all humans have _something_ to gauge danger, label the events in their lives, find an explanation to their problems, and react when faced with tedious situations.

But in that moment, Hana's tools had ceased to function.

Conscience? Gone. Reason? Pft, what was even that? Feelings? Too much of a mess to help. Hearing? Just a bunch of unusable whistling sounds.

Sight?

An amaryllis. On a hand. On _Aleon's_ hand. Aleon who, as her memory would later on remind her, didn't even live in Megamshill three years ago, when the Whisper had struck the city.

Yet at this moment, he was on top of her, with the Whisper's amaryllis on his right hand, and his left hand tight around her neck.

And he was about to kill her.

Her reaction?

Nothing. She couldn't move. Couldn't think. Could barely breathe. Her entire being was focused on the amaryllis on Aleon's hand that bloomed open, with its stamens moving past the hand, conjuring past the barrier his skin should have been. If her thinking abilities hadn't been completely shut down by her overwhelming panic, she would have deduced the flower's stamens were the source of the puncture points on the victims.

But all Hana could think of in that moment was that she was about to die. She had been transported back to that room with the hand moving close to her. And closer. And closer. Ripping a part of her life and destroying her.

She was going to live this all over again. The agony. The terror. The screams. The poison intoxicating her. The sheer annihilation.

 _I'm going to die._

Something snapped within her as her brain produced the first plausible thought since her back had hit the ground, a primal instinct taking over her. And through that crack, all her numbness rushed out, pouring out of her like water out of lungs as she finally inhaled and registered the myriad of emotions whirling in her being. Fear, to care for her life. Anger, to fight back. Determination, to not let go. And desperation, to try _anything_ until she was safe.

She grabbed his wrist, groaning at his strength as he tried to resist. All her previous worries about not hurting him had disappeared; she dropped all her barriers and let her Ren blaze through her, a violent energy fueled by her one preoccupation: not dying. They were still wrestling, and she was about to kill him to save herself, when a whistle pierced through her intense focus.

A whistle. A birdlike noise calling for her. Just like that one night she had wrestled with another man trying to kill her.

She glanced at the spot the sound should have been coming from, gasping as Aleon's hand around her neck relaxed. It only lasted half a second. Half a second of inattention, and Aleon was tumbling away from her with a fury of a girl trying to handcuff him. Half a second and Hana's trance burst away, leaving her alone on the floor while Aleon was being taken care of by the girl who had just saved her.

"Go after him!" a voice yelled, and two hunters went after the whistling sound.

Hana sat dumbstruck on the floor, barely catching up with what had happened. Her outburst of energy had left her completely empty.

She had been about to kill Aleon.

"Hana!" the same voice called her. But she couldn't move, still in shock. She barely saw Allan kneeling before her, his blue eyes wide in worry. He grabbed her shoulders and gently shook her awake. "Hana, are you alright?"

She rose stunned eyes toward him as he kept shaking her.

"You'll be fine," he continued. "That wasn't the Whisper. You'll be fine. _You're fine_. Okay?"

 _That wasn't the Whisper._

She clung to that one thought. Grabbed it greedily and shoved it forcefully in her panicking brain, until it knocked some sense into her.

 _That wasn't the Whisper._

Only then, she managed to nod.

"Thank God," he breathed. He relaxed and let go of her. He removed his blazer and placed it on her shoulders. She realized then that she had been shivering. She wasn't sure if it was because of the blood staining her shirt, the terror or the anger, but she closed it on her as though it might shield her.

Aleon screamed at this moment. Not a scream of wrath, but of pain. She risked a glance toward him, still counting the consequences of her fight that she hadn't noticed before—her pounding heart, her sprained ankle, her bleeding injuries on her arms, stomach and shoulders, the dull pain around her neck, her swollen lip. She hadn't broken any rib, which was a miracle. He had stopped moving, and had slumped on the floor. He was crying. On top of him, the girl on fire who had saved Hana.

Hana recognized the sea green eyes and the long blond curls. The ever-frowning porcelain doll face now panting after neutralizing Aleon. The small and unassuming frame hiding immense strength.

Bee Onela had just saved her.

* * *

The next hour passed in a blur.

Aleon was taken to the HCDS headquarters, guarded by two huge hunters. From the little Hana had heard, he would be remanded in custody, in a quarantine sector at the HCDS, for further examinations. He hadn't had any fit after his scary outburst and had barely had enough strength to stay awake while he was shoved into the car that took him away.

The one thing Hana remembered was that the tattoo had disappeared from his palm.

She sighed, and took a sip from a glass of water Allan had brought for her. Her fight with Aleon had drained all her energy, leaving her in a trance-like state, an emotional emptiness echoing in her skull. Her limbs were so heavy, yet so weak, like a puppet made of lead whose strings had snapped under the stress. And now she was folding on herself, hunched forwards, too weary to carry herself.

She stared into the glass, at the water glistening under the hotel's lights. Somehow, the dull realization that she had relived the mission all over again rang in the back of her mind. A cynical voice apprised her that her nightmares would only get worse now, but she barely heard it. She had told herself ' _it can only get worse_ ' so many times, it didn't surprise her anymore, didn't even mean a thing to her. All she could do was wait and watch and weep. And try to survive the tricks her fear would play on her when she would be alone.

She mentally scoffed. Her apathy and passivity could almost scare her, if she could be more scared than she already was. She tried to remember when she had developed that numbness as a reaction; she used to have so much spunk, so much reactivity. Hit her and she'd hit back. Bite and she'd bite back. Now, she just tried to cope with whatever convoluted defense mechanism her brain would come up with.

Broken.

She felt broken.

Allan came back at this moment. He sat next to her on the sofa with a tired huff, and she glanced at him before focusing back on her hands. Even he looked worried. Even he knew that it would only go downhill, starting from here.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked, his voice so gentle. He had had the same voice when he had first spoken to her, on her hospital bed, when she had finally regained consciousness. Soothing and calm, polished to hide the issues simmering in his mind. His sorrow, his grief, his fear. But he couldn't hide it from her. She was just the same, a façade pretending to be alright. The only difference was that her façade had crumbled.

"I'm fine," she managed. Her voice was hoarse. She coughed, and cleared her throat.

He relaxed at the sound of her voice. Only then, she realized this was the first thing she had said since he had come.

Slowly, she removed the blazer, awkwardly handing it back to him. Her blood was all over it. "Thank you. And sorry—for the blood, I mean."

"Are you sure you don't want to keep it?"

"Yeah."

He took it back, putting it on his lap. "I called Miss Terra; I told her you were here. She's on her way."

Relief flooded her, the first emotion she could distinguish from her fear. At least, Lynd would be here. "Thank you."

He nodded. He already looked better than before, as though every word she spoke appeased him. It dawned on her, then, that if she had died, he would have lost another of his students to the Whisper's curse. His fright suddenly made a lot more sense. In her despair, she hadn't thought about how many more people had been affected by the case, some of whom were close to her. She wasn't alone in this.

So many people had suffered, and yet here she was, pitying her helpless self.

She sat up, that last thought fueling some new determination in her. It was small, but it was _there_. "I'll take a shower," she said. "Then, I'll tell you what happened."

He turned shocked eyes toward her. A breach in his perfect composure. "Are you sure?" he asked. She knew he had been dying to question her—that was just Allan, always meticulous and focused on his work—but at the same time, the sheer concern on his face explained his silence. Allan had always loved his job, but he loved his students even more, and their safety was his top priority.

She shifted in her seat, a slight frown creasing her face.

It bothered her. She didn't want his compassion. She almost preferred his radical solutions, his selfish one-track mind, his overwhelming expectations, his ruthless resolve. At least then, he would fight back. When he worried and fretted and _hesitated_ , she knew he had been terrified. And hurt.

"Yes, I'm sure. I can help with this, at least," she firmly assured. She was the only one who had seen what had happened, the sheer anomaly of Aleon's power; she had to talk about it to avoid more casualties. She had been bracing herself for that, ever since he had left her. She was ready to do that, at least. She couldn't withhold such important information.

That was the least she could do. For Allan, for the victims. For herself.

He stared at her, his eyes twitching ever so slightly. "Alright. Go clean yourself up. Take as much time as you need. Call me when you're ready."

She nodded and got up. She had to go to the employees changing room; there were private showers there.

He called her then. She swiveled, her heart missing a beat when she saw the unabashed pride in his eyes.

"You're brave, Hana. Never think otherwise."

She held his gaze for a second, then walked away.

For once, she would do what was right to do.

* * *

 **7:12 P.M.**

Lynd had arrived shortly after Hana had left Allan. After a much-needed shower, an even more needed tight hug from Lynd, and a great dose of motivation, they headed to the private room Allan had booked for their discussion.

Hana knocked at the door, her fist quivering with nervousness. The whole mission depended on how well she would relate the events. It was a given that she didn't do well with great expectations.

Allan opened the door. He looked more rested then before and had found another blazer; his ferocious resolve glinted in his eyes. _As it should be_ , she thought. Back when she was his student, she used to wish he could be more lenient on her and spare her his intensity. But now, she realized an intense Allan was the only Allan there should be. It was the only way he could exist, the source of his dependability. Allan was the backbone of this investigation; if he fell, they would all fall.

"Do you feel better?" he asked her. Even his voice had found its energy, though she still perceived the same gentleness as before. For her.

"Much better."

She and Lynd walked in. Hana quickly saw Bee sitting on a couch, her legs crossed. She eyed Hana for what seemed like a way too long second, then turned her attention toward the window.

Lynd sat next to Bee, sparing Hana from this chore. Allan took the armchair on Bee's right, and Hana sat on the couch at Lynd's left, facing Allan. He took a notepad and a pen, checked if the pen was working, and looked at her.

"You can start," he said.

She took a deep breath.

"I've been observing this man, Aleon Dove, for a few weeks already. His ex-girlfriend had hired me to watch him and find out why he changed so much in the span of a month. According to her, he used to be a businessman and travelled a lot. He had been part of a firm based in York Shin for five years. He came to Megamshill a year ago to meet some local businessmen and sign a contract for his company. Then, his CEO nominated him to represent the firm in Megamshill, which is why he stayed even after the contract signing. He started dating my client around eight months ago.

"However, around two months ago, perhaps more, she noticed he was starting to act weird. He was more aggressive, showed signs of paranoia and anxiety. His girlfriend put this behavior down to his stress. But then, he abruptly ended their relationship, resigned, and moved out of his house. He spent half of his savings to rent a VIP suite in the Delexo Hotel, hid a camera in his room and only left it to drink at the bar or go out for a few hours. He did have a few moments of panic when he woke up and started looking around him, as if he were pursed by something. I once heard him repeat over and over that some 'he' was here in his room. He was frantic and terrified." She paused, met Lynd's eyes for a second, who discretely nodded. She inhaled. It gave her more courage to speak in Lynd's presence. Especially with Bee in the same room who —rightfully— hated her.

As for Allan, he was dutifully dating notes, writing down everything she said. She waited for him to finish his word. Then, he gestured her to keep going.

She sat straighter. "Everything happened as usual, today. He came to the bar at 2 P.M., ordered a bottle of wine, and started drinking. He didn't do anything else. Then, at around 5 P.M., he attacked a waitress and caused a commotion.

"I intervened before he could cause any casualty. He had never ever been violent, hence my shock when I saw him behave so aggressively. He hurled at me before I could stop him, and that's when I noticed his unusual strength. I combed through his life and it says nowhere that he knew any fighting, any nen, anything that could justify his power. Even worse, he then emitted nen and used it to fight me. It wasn't a strong nen per se, but it could kill any non nen user with a single punch. It definitely alerted me, even more when I realized Aleon Dove himself didn't seem to understand what was happening. In between the fits of anger, he seemed to war with himself, occasionally cried and called for help before he knocked me over.

"That's when the issue deepens. At some point—I'm not quite sure when— a tattoo appeared on his palm." Her voice died. She squeezed the armrest, shushing her pounding heart. "A black amaryllis. The flower's stamens moved while he held me to the ground, and conjured out of his hand, while still staying connected to the tattoo. It was just as if a part of the tattoo had become real. I'm not entirely sure, but I think the stamens might be the source of the puncture points found on the victims' chest. I'm guessing that when the curse is about to be inflicted, the amaryllis's stamens protrude out of the Whisper's hand to sting the victim. The only thing that seems confusing to me is that the tattoo disappeared then."

"There could be an explanation to that," Allan started after a thoughtful silence, narrowing his eyes at his notes. "As you said, Aleon Dove only came to Megamshill a year ago. He wasn't here when the Whisper struck. Besides, we are not aware of any Whisper alert coming from York Shin. I think it's safe to assume Aleon Dove isn't the Whisper." He scribbled something on his notepad. "That leaves another option, which is, I believe, scarier."

"He manipulates people," Bee thought aloud.

"Exactly. From the look of it, Dove has been infected with the curse himself. You said he showed signs of extreme fear and paranoia, coupled with great restlessness. Is that right?"

Hana nodded. "He also seemed in pain, during the fight."

"That settles it. Dove was a victim of the curse, as much as the other casualties. The only difference is that he was, somehow, bestowed the Whisper's powers for some unknown purpose, for a limited time. The modus operandi was the same, am I right?" He turned toward Hana. "Do you remember clearly how the Whisper attacked?"

Hana twitched, mute for a moment. A moment during which Allan widened his eyes and seemed to regret his words.

Silence fell then as Hana tried to gather her words. She hadn't planned to reenact the mission. She should have known she would need to—where did her professionalism go?— but the idea hadn't crossed her mind. And now she had to describe it in detail.

After a few seconds, Bee scoffed. "Do you remember or not?" she insisted. Hana's jaw tensed. Feri's sister was scowling at her with _Feri's eyes_. His gentle sea green gaze was so _caustic_ on Bee's face.

"Bee," Allan warned, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

But Bee didn't stop there. "Look, it's not like my brother's here to talk about it, right?" she spat, venom dripping from her words.

Anger seized Hana at the throat as Allan firmly hit the table. "Bee," he said again, his tone no longer patient. "I won't tolerate any personal vendetta in this room. You have one enemy. Don't get him confused with your allies. Am I clear?"

Bee glared back at him.

Hana regained her composure then, swallowing back the wrath that would have spilled out of her. "You're right," she started, her voice a cold blade forged in ruthlessness. She, too, knew how to be venomous. "Feri's not here to tell you what happened. _You_ weren't here either. Nobody was, except me. I have the answers. So I suggest you stay respectful if you want my cooperation."

Bee narrowed her eyes, but mumbled an apology as Allan glared at her.

Lynd then tapped her watch. "Not to be a killjoy, but time is ticking. Would be pretty cool if you don't interrupt her again," she said to Bee, who barely spared her a glance. "So, let's come back to the topic. Do you feel ready to talk about it, now?" she asked Hana.

"Yeah." Hana took a sip of water. "After the Whisper killed Feri—" Bee flinched. "—he came for me to give me the same treatment. I was badly wounded and had lost a lot of blood, so I don't remember much, but I do remember clearly his hand. It was gloved, but Feri's explosions had partly burnt it. A flower's petals and stamens were peeking from it, but I didn't see it entirely. I might have fainted before he could remove it, or perhaps the earliest moments of the curse were erased from my memory by the pain. I can't be sure.

"The movements are the same. The hand is open wide, its fingers apart. From what I've realized, he goes for the chest. I don't remember him piercing my chest, but since I survived the curse, I suppose I didn't get puncture points. The condition for puncture points to appear might be that the victim has to succumb to the curse.

"Once I had recovered, I never gave much thought to it. I hallucinated a lot while I was subject to the curse, so I thought I had imagined the flower. Only now do I realize it makes sense."

Allan nodded. "So in this case, the victim did inherit the Whisper's curse. It should be safe to infer the Whisper's ability includes the option to manipulate people. Surely to kill for him."

"Yes." Hana jolted then. "There's something else. There was a whistle sound right before I could kill Aleon—or the other way around."

"A whistle?" Lynd repeated, recognition dawning on her face.

Allan frowned. "Yes. I sent two hunters after the sound, thinking it could be the Whisper. But if it was, then he had already escaped."

"I do think it could be him," Hana said, and shuddered at the thought—the Whisper could have been standing in the same room without her being aware of it. "And I think he was the one who made that whistle sound when we tried to catch Coal," she said to Lynd. "It would make an awful lot of sense."

"Coal?" Bee asked. "The murderer?"

Lynd leaned forward, thoughtful. "Yes. The murderer who killed his brother and six more people—including one man he dismembered. Hana is the one who caught Coal after a car chase. Before she neutralized him, Coal had taken a child as a hostage—right at this moment, there was a whistle sound. Coal stopped everything he was doing then."

"It was the same sound," Hana confirmed. "Like a bird."

Lynd suddenly got up. "I have to call Jino. I'll be back in a minute." She dashed out of the room, her phone in hand.

Allan watched her leave. "This murderer she mentioned, Coal… Could he be a Whisper's puppet as well?"

"There are big chances," Hana replied. "The sound was exactly the same. Or so I think, if my mind isn't playing tricks on me."

"It would mean the Whisper monitors his puppets, to a certain extent."

"He tells them to 'stop' then?" Bee asked—she had calmed down.

"I suppose so. Perhaps when they do things he doesn't want them to do. Coal was about to kill a child when the whistle resounded. And Aleon Dove was about to cause a commotion in a public place."

Allan rubbed his chin. "The Whisper has never killed children before. It could be one of his… principles."

"You said the tattoo disappeared then," Bee said, to Hana.

"Yes. It faded away when you knocked him out."

"Then that's why he stopped Dove. He was in a public place. There were chances of people seeing the tattoo and not dying. That gives a hint on his identity."

Allan tapped his notepad. "Great deduction," he praised her. "No one has ever seen the tattoo and survived—except you, Hana, and even then, you only partially saw it. The chances of his power being exposed were too great when Aleon had a fit. Which is why he stopped him."

"Possibly," Hana said. "So I suppose he doesn't control what his puppets and when they do it, then?"

"You supposed right. His control on them could be limited," Allan inferred. "Depending on his proximity to them?"

"If so, then it gives an idea about his strength, perhaps even his En range," Bee said. "And about his whereabouts. That's too easy. I think the puppets always bear the curse on them and it gnaws them, but perhaps they only become murderous when they are within the Whisper's En."

"I lean toward that option as well," Allan said. "However, we need to stay prudent. Any assumption could be fatal to us."

Bee nodded, visibly enjoying the tips—'enjoy' was such a peculiar word to use for Bee. Hana knew that feeling. Allan was resourceful and slipped small lessons in every conversation. Bee was still learning—as was Hana— so she gulped down everything Allan said. It made Hana feel nostalgic, to remember the times she sat at Bee's place, watching Allan with amazement as though every word he spoke was a new biblical prophecy. Having a teacher to rely on felt so reassuring. More reassuring than standing alone without any guide to help her cross the wall in front of her.

Lynd came back then. When she Hana turned toward her, as she closed the door, she immediately saw the determination on her face.

"Jino is going to try something," she explained as she sat back. "We've been trying to make Coal talk for a long time, but he hasn't been cooperative. He just won't talk to us. I told Jino to show him an amaryllis and watch how he reacts. If my assumptions are right, then the reason Coal dismembered this man was because of the flower tattoo on his arm—for all we know, Coal was just trying to protect himself, and getting rid of that flower was the only way for him."

Allan gave a brief nod. "It's pretty smart."

They gave updates to Lynd about their deductions, told her everything she had missed. While they rewound their conversation for Lynd's sake, Hana started getting a grasp of what they had discovered: a huge hint on the Whisper's abilities. Not that it meant good things for them. Admittedly, they knew what the tattoo on his palm was—oh the irony, an _amaryllis_ of all flowers, as though fate had bound her to him through some twisted mechanism. But the real discovery was terrifying rather than reassuring: on top of killing people, he could manipulate people to kill for him.

A chill crawled its way up her spine. She felt it creep in every single nerve, whispering in her ear the one thing she would remember that night.

 _He could be anywhere._

 _He could strike you from anywhere._

 _He could get you anytime._

 _You're surrounded._

She shook these thoughts away, focusing instead on Lynd's warm eyes. She must have seen the pleading look in Hana's eyes because she offered the most comforting smile she could then. It relieved Hana, for just a moment. She wasn't alone. At least then.

Allan looked at the clock above the door. "When will your associate contact you?" he asked Lynd once he was done explaining.

"As soon as he has a reaction. Until then, all we can do is wai—" Her phone started ringing. She exchanged a look of disbelief with Hana and picked it up, distancing herself from the table. "Jino?"

They watched her with intent eyes. When Lynd raised her eyebrows, they all knew.

Lynd had the next piece to their puzzle.

* * *

"I swear, as soon as he saw the flower, he braced himself!" Jino exclaimed, walking them to Coal's cell. "I wasn't sure what reaction you wanted, but I didn't expect that. He was so _scared_."

Hana glanced at him. His surprise made a lot of sense; he hadn't seen the amaryllis himself. But for someone like her who had lived through it, Coal's reaction was understandable, if not sensible.

Jino opened a door that led to yet another row of cells. The prison wasn't that big but Coal's cell was located in the highly secured areas, as he had been judged to be too dangerous to be left with other convicts. And for a reason; if Lynd and Hana were right, then he had been cursed, and could be a Whisper's puppet. Any contact with other convicts, or even with the guards, could become an unnecessary danger.

As they walked past the cells, Hana eyed Lynd with interest. She had always thought that Lynd had a sort of instinct that sometimes made her take precautions that later on proved to be life-saving. Lynd didn't know at the time that Coal had been infected with the curse, even less that he could act for the Whisper within the prison itself, yet she had decided to put him in a special cell. She had probably been criticized for it, yet she had insisted, and here they were. She had been right.

Hana hadn't been wrong when she had said Lynd was perfect for this role.

"This way," Jino said, interrupting her thoughts. He unlocked a door with his badge, then composed a code to open it. He let them in, and the door automatically closed when they were all inside.

She scanned the room, immediately locating the cameras hidden at every corner. The only possible exit was the door they had taken, though there was another door that led downstairs—it was heavily secured as well. The room itself was of decent size, with monitoring facilities—screens, mics, interphones to communicate with the other parts of the prison—positioned in front of a wide window. As they moved closer to the large window, she saw it gave onto Coal's cell, situated a level below.

The first thing that hit her was how much weight he had lost. The man who had bitten her had been fit, even muscular, but the one in the cell had hollow cheeks and limp muscles. Then, she noticed the walls were coated with a mattress-like material. To keep him from hurting himself.

Two guards were monitoring him, and one doctor stood with them. "Chief," they greeted in unison.

She nodded at them. "Anything new?"

"He went kaput," the first guard said. "He said it was "him", whoever that guy could be. Then he stopped talking."

"Did he have a fit?"

The doctor shook his head. "Not since three days ago."

"Could we talk to him, then?"

The guard widened his eyes. "You could try, but it's better to do so from here. He's still dangerous. He looks weak but God knows what kind of devil is in that body."

Allan stepped in. "We only need to talk."

The guard blinked in confusion, then hastily nodded. "Sure." He pressed a button and bent forward, toward a mic. "You got some visit."

Coal showed no sign that he had heard the guard.

The guard shrugged. "See. He had a burst of activity an hour ago, and since then he's been like this."

Allan moved between the guard and pressed the button himself. "We have questions—and answers— about the man with the amaryllis tattoo."

Coal looked up then, and slowly stood up. He looked warily at the window from his spot. A chill went up Hana's spine. "I'm not talking with someone I can't see," he said. "I'm insane enough. Don't make it worse."

The guard gaped. "Holy—don't listen to him. He could hurt you."

But Allan had already removed his blazer and handed it to the second guard. "We're hunters, we can handle him."

"Hunt—" the guard blinked again.

"I'm coming with you," Bee said, much to the guard's horror—to him, she was just a teenager with an oversized pink sweater and a short skirt. Not a deadly hunter with a petrifying stare and the will of a lioness.

Then, Lynd trailed them, as they would need someone with the badge and the code to open Coal's cell. Jino had insisted to go himself, but Lynd refused to endanger her officers when she could do the job herself.

It was now Hana's turn to decide, torn between her duty as a hunter and her dread as a victim. But as Bee walked through the door, she inhaled deep and followed Lynd.

 _Be strong, just this once._

 _You're not a victim._

"Hana," Lynd said, holding the door handle. "You don't have to do this."

But she did. And she would.

She smiled at Lynd, the best she could manage. "Don't worry. I'm tough," she tried to reassure her.

And she was a hunter, too, wasn't she?

She crossed the door, and went to the level below, meeting Allan's approving gaze on her way downstairs. Bee was already waiting near the door for Lynd to open it.

When she reached the ground level, Allan patted her on the shoulder. "You're stronger than you think. And you're not alone."

She acquiesced. He was right; Allan was incredibly strong, and Bee… Bee could pretend that she hated her, but she would still help her if anything happened.

"Are you ready?" Lynd said. She was addressing them all, but her gaze on Hana. Hana, who was starting to feel more like a burden than a necessary part of their makeshift, temporary team. She appreciated the extra bits of attention but she didn't want to be pitied or coddled or victimized.

Allan squared his shoulders. "We are."

Lynd opened the door.

Coal didn't hurl himself at them. He didn't scream with wide eyes and drool on his chin. He didn't throw his bed at them or try to gouge their eyes out or do anything remotely violent. He didn't try to bite her either.

He simply sat there, unimpressed, unmoving.

When Lynd closed the door, he moved away from them. Sitting on the far end of his bed, as though they might hurt him. "What now?" he said.

Allan took his notepad, just as blasé as Coal was, as if he weren't in the same room as a man who had killed seven people and could curse them all if the Whisper wanted him to. "First you. Tell us exactly what you remember."

Coal scowled at him, as though he was trying to gauge him. "I don't remember much. Just that it wasn't me doing those things."

Allan arched an eyebrow, still looking at this notes. "That's vague. Who was it, then?"

Coal clutched his convict clothes. "There's someone in my head telling me to do it. He controls me."

"Who?"

"Hell if I know. I don't remember anything. Not his face, nor when it happened."

"Do you have any idea; any time range?"

"Dunno. I'm guessing two months ago. One night I got too drunk. I thought it was the alcohol doing those things to me."

Allan took notes of everything Coal said. "So there's a voice telling you to kill people."

Horror flashed in Coal's eyes. "I'm not a killer. I wasn't the best guy; I drank and gambled, and I fought some guys at the Pit. But I never killed anyone before this… this thing."

"We're not asking you to justify what you did," Lynd said, her tone firm but pacific. "We might have a hold on what happened to you. We need you to be cooperative so we know what to do."

Coal stopped glowering at her at this moment. "You know what happened to me?"

"Possibly. But you have to help us understand."

He nodded, renewed hope timidly shining in his eyes. "Okay."

Allan watched him with intent eyes. "First, we're going to mention a few possible symptoms and you'll tell us which you experienced. Is that okay?"

Coal nodded.

Allan started reading. "Hallucinations." Nod. "Intense headaches." Nod. "Excruciating burning sensations in your whole body—sometimes centered in the chest." Nod. "Extreme fear. Atrocious pain hitting you in various parts of your body. The sensation of being overwhelmed." Nod. Nod. Nod.

"Feeling like you're staring into the void."

Coal stared at her, and only then she realized she had said those words. The shock in his eyes mirrored her own. But she also saw recognition, and the strangest kind of kinship.

He nodded.

After a glance in her direction, Allan scribbled the last bits of information. "Now, other question. When the officers showed you an amaryllis, you panicked. Why is that?"

Coal tensed up. "I'm not sure. I've been seeing this flower ever since I started seeing things. I don't know what it means or what it is. But I saw it before."

"It's a tattoo," Hana intervened. Again, against her own will. As though talking to another victim kindled a need to share her experience, as though it made the pain—of the curse, of her guilt, of being the only person alive to have healed from the curse—more bearable. He wasn't aware that he was facing a survivor; he wasn't even aware that he had been cursed and that there were chances he wouldn't survive. But even then, finally someone knew how she felt. Someone understood her. Someone had been through the same dismay. "The amaryllis is a tattoo."

When Coal turned his gaze toward her, looking at her for the second time, he finally recognized her. "You're the one who caught me," he noticed.

Lynd's hand hovered over her holster, but Hana remained calm. "Yes. And I caught someone like you today, too."

"There are more people like me?"

"So far there are only two," she said. Weighing her words. She couldn't let him know about her. "You and the man I caught."

A flicker of relief enlightened his face, just for a second. "So it's not just _me_?"

Allan explained him everything then—omitting the part about nen and the speculations about the Whisper's ability. All Coal needed to know was that he had been manipulated to kill, a puppet acting for another killer.

It was almost heartbreaking to see the alleviation on his face. Never had Hana thought she would relate so much to a criminal. Somehow, a villain had turned out to be a victim. "So it wasn't me killing my brother," he breathed. He paled then. "But it means I'm sick?"

"More or less," Allan chose his words. Sick wasn't the word— _cursed_ was. But it wouldn't help much to tell that to a quivering convict. Most people had no idea what nen was, and would think of the curse as a paranormal entity binding them to some evil force. "You've been infected with an illness that sometimes controls your will. We are looking for whoever did that to you. However, you ought to stay monitored until further notice. As long as you're sick, you can become dangerous, whatever your intentions may be. We have to understand what you have so that we can cure you."

 _Cure you._

Hana resisted the urge to frown at Allan, or even look at him as he said that—a gesture that would betray her doubt. It was true that Coal's exorcism would become a priority anytime soon—if he wasn't exorcised soon, he would either kill people or kill himself. Either way, that couldn't be allowed to happen.

But that didn't mean his exorcism would be easy. Three years ago, all of the victims' curse had pushed them to suicide, sometimes with such great force they had barely had time to realize what had happened, like in Feri's case.

As for Hana, her exorcism had been gradual. Nen exorcists were hard to come by—she was well placed to know that—but even those who had seen to her curse hadn't been able to entirely exorcise her. Nen exorcism usually came with great restriction, hence the exorcists' reluctance to get involved, and the HCDS didn't have funds to waste on renowned exorcists for a young wannabe-agent who had stuck her nose in a case too big for her to handle.

The one exorcist who had wanted to help the most hadn't been able to. He couldn't know what had happened.

That was why Hana was doubtful. Why was Allan promising a cure to a curse they couldn't understand? Was that a way to pacify Coal? Or did he really believe there was a way to help?

Did he know an exorcist?

Hana shifted in discomfort. She couldn't read him. She could never understand how his mind worked. The only thing she knew was that he had something in mind.

She didn't always like it, when he had something on his mind.

"Do you have any question?" Allan concluded, closing his notepad and cutting short to her debate.

Coal looked at him, almost with pleading eyes. "Will I receive a treatment? How long does it take for me to heal? Will I survive?"

Allan got up. "We'll see to that. Our best doctors will work on the issue and come up with something. You will be transferred to the HCDS quarantine sector so that they can examine you. As for the healing procedure, that is still to be determined."

"Will I _survive?_ " Coal repeated.

Allan stared at him. "We'll deploy great forces for that."

Coal's face fell then in front of this evasive answer. Yet another echo to Hana's own uncertainty, when she had begged doctors to tell her if she would survive.

They started walking toward the door, then. Leaving one by one after Lynd unlocked the door. Bee had been completely silent, her face an impassive wall.

Before Hana walked through the door, she eyed one last time the man who had killed his brother against his will.

He was weeping. His head buried in his hands, his cries so quiet she barely heard them.

She forced her eyes away.

But even when the door closed and she followed the others upstairs, she still heard his cries bleeding past the walls, no matter how silent they were. A shard in her chest. Those were her tears, her pain, her curse.

He was just like her.

* * *

 **9:45 P.M.**

She kicked off her shoes and threw her coat on the table, wobbling to the living-room. She had to support herself on the couch before she collapsed with defeat.

She had spent the whole evening clinging to her mask of perfect composure, with even more strength after it slipped once and revealed how weak she felt to Allan. After all these hours talking and working and pretending to be alright, she was exhausted. She couldn't do it anymore. The lead doll was back in her body and it weighed twice as heavy as before.

Now that there was nothing to take her mind off the issue, her fears had free rein to haunt her.

She took a deep breath. The tears were already stinging her eyes. She had barely gotten home that everything that had held her together was snapping. The dam had broken and her repressed emotions cascaded down her body, rushing and streaming out of her. Soaking her until she was but a limp version of herself with tears of mascara down her cheeks and disheveled hair stuck to her wet face.

It was only the start.

The memory of Aleon's hand was still a fresh wound in her mind, a sore and throbbing ache deep in her bones. She still saw it, nearing, _nearing_ , so close to her face, to her _chest_. Almost touching her, with the flower coming to life on his palm, blooming in death. No matter how much she tried, she couldn't shove it away, couldn't muster the strength and determination to think about anything else. The hand always came back, so disgustingly stubborn, a starving leech glued to her.

Her hands clasped the cushion as her arms quivered, her back shaking with thick sobs. How she wished the thoughts would still and let her breathe, but they whirled around in a restless round and pulled her with them, twisting and wringing every neuron until she was living the mission all over again with every detail and every emotion. The failure. The curse. The pain. The guilt. The _fear_.

The hand.

The Whisper.

A shudder crawled down her back. She sniffed, hastily wiping the tears away, crying until she was choking on her sobs. Her heart was beating so fast she thought it would skitter away, pumping and pumping and pressing and begging for air and relief and mercy. Blood pulsed and pushed and pulled in her temples until her head was heavy with a headache, until she felt like her skull would burst with every throb of pain and every heartbeat. She gasped for air, clinging to the couch as her legs grew noodle-like. Whatever air she managed to inhale, it never seemed enough and the realization that she was suffocating rekindled her terror like oil thrown on fire.

Seconds turned to minutes then, and all she could do was wait for her breath to come back in short gulps of air. Slowly, the overwhelming feeling of terror dulled down, leaving her empty and exhausted as she regained her composure.

Yet the tears wouldn't stop streaming down her face. She moved carefully, still clinging to the couch, until she reached the coffee table and took a tissue. She sat on the couch arm and blew her nose, faintly aware that her hands were still trembling but well too aware of the damned hand still hovering in her mind. So frustrating and infuriating and terrifying.

Then, she sat there. Her breathing stilled. She deeply inhaled and cleared her throat. And her shoulders sank in defeat. The knowledge of how trapped she was weighed on her back.

The Whisper was more powerful than he had ever been. The Whisper had puppets everywhere. The Whisper was still plaguing her life. And as long as he roamed, he would keep plaguing it.

She hugged herself, so small and weak and powerless. All she wanted was to forget that fucking hand that wouldn't leave her alone. A dull call for drunkenness rang in her mind, repeatedly, and soon enough it wasn't a call anymore but a need, an urge, a yearning. As though drowning in a glass seemed like the best bad decision she could opt for when she was a mess of panic and grief.

She got up, then, trudging to the kitchen to find a bottle of wine.

Somehow, she was aware that it wouldn't help. She had done that before. She had purged her fair share of drunk nights and none of them had managed to permanently erase the Whisper. They only provided a short period of mercy, a moment when she was too drunk to think and void ironically filled her mind.

But when she was that desperate, even a moment of void was better than a night staring into the void.

* * *

Drowning. Drifting off the edge. She held her glass, foggy eyes locked on her miserable reflection in the wine, but not seeing it. Not that she wanted to. Not that she should ever want to.

She sat still. Unwavering. So still. Almost like a doll. A little lead doll. Frozen. Empty.

Absent.

Right. She was absent. Just as she had wanted. Just for a few hours. That was all she asked for, really. A few hours to cease to exist. Forget everything. A few hours with a blank mind, with nothing but the void in her mind. No more question, no more guilt, no more remorse. Just emptiness. Void.

That was a good deal, right? So cheap and easy.

If only it were permanent.

Her glassy eyes closed, then reopened to the blurry glass of wine sitting between her hands. She stared at it, unmoving.

Heavy.

Her head felt heavy. Heavy with a headache that wouldn't leave, as if someone was hitting her skull with a hammer, repeatedly. A short preview of the hangover awaiting her. As she sighed, the sickening smell of alcohol engulfed her nostrils, leaving no room for any more sanity into her deluded mind.

Alcohol.

She tiredly rose her head, glassy eyes half-consciously searching for the bottle. Desperate to fill her glass again and shut the hammer up, kill the remorse, and forget, forget, just forget. However, as she found it, her stomach churned and twisted, a last remnant of reason in her drunk person.

How ironic was that? All she had wanted was some stillness, some calm in her restless brain, and yet all she earned were unbalanced thoughts and headaches. More issues. More desperation. More suffering, more pain, more remorse. More noise. More fractures. More wounds. More shame.

More wine.

She reached for the bottle and grabbed it with a trembling hand. She felt the cold surface of the bottle against her hot palm, the brief shock failing to wake her up from her semi-consciousness. She wondered for a moment which was her hand and which was the bottle, because she might as well have merged with the bottle, but the thought didn't last. None did. They all died, ephemeral bits of thoughts that flew everywhere in her head. Hitting each other, hitting her skull. Like a hammer.

Clumsily, she poured more wine into her glass. Her wobbling hand was trying as hard as possible to not spill anything, as if she had so little consciousness left that her limbs each had their own, to make up for the lack of sanity. But it wasn't enough. She spilled wine on her white shirt and the bottle collapsed on the table.

It took her a few seconds to realize what had happened. That the bottle wasn't in her hand anymore. That the wine wasn't in the bottle anymore. That her hand was covered in wine.

Her eyes followed her hand, late. There was a huge wine stain on her clothes, on her stomach. As if she had been stabbed. How fitting. She tried to stand and move away from the spilling alcohol, working on her balance. She reached for the bottle to stop it from spilling all over the floor.

But she was unsteady. The bottle slid from her hand and broke on the floor. Tiny pieces of glass flew everywhere. She stepped back, confused. There was alcohol everywhere. Everywhere she looked. She tried to bend and pick some pieces of glass, supporting herself on the table. But again, it failed. She just slid and nearly broke her neck and sent all her documents flying in the puddle of wine. She jerked upright, and pushed the chair back as she did. Trembling, she looked around her. Overwhelmed. Suffocating.

Sheets of paper everywhere. Shards of glass scattered on the floor. Upturned furniture.

And blood.

All the details of _that_ night came back into her mind, all the things she had tried so, _so hard_ to forget rushed back. All the mistakes and the choked down screams and the wiped tears and the anger and the burden of her own silence. All the lies, to herself, to the others.

Her breath caught. Panic found its way back, shattering the flimsy walls of numbness she had built with the alcohol. No matter how much she ran, she wouldn't forget.

She stepped back again and tripped on the chair, falling on the floor with a deaf thud and a yelp. She barely felt a thing. She barely felt the pieces of glass piercing her skin and the large bruise she would get from bumping against the table and hitting the floor. The suffocation inside was too much to feel already, growing and growing and pressing against every single inch of her being.

As she arched her head back, she realized her phone was near the table foot. She extended her trembling arm and took it, unsure of how to use it anymore. She was so disconnected from reality she wasn't even sure how she had gotten her password right—surely habit. She sent a confused message to the first person her finger picked and let go of the phone. She wasn't even sure she had really sent the message.

Tears spilled then as she lay on the floor, giving in to gravity—and to her lack of consciousness. She couldn't tell whether those tears were hers or her memories', or both. She buried her head in her quivering hands.

Void.

That was all she had asked for.

All she had gotten were more regrets to dwell on when she would be sober.

She was a fucking idiot.

After that sudden panic-stricken outburst, her body was back to its clumsy unbalance. Like a lump. And she kept crying. Over the memories that couldn't be erased, no matter how much wine she ingested, and over the shame.

She fell to the side, curled up into a ball, sinking her nails into her palms.

Quiet sobbing followed, amidst the confusion and the silence.

Quiet sobbing, and then nothing.

* * *

 **10:35 P.M.**

Killua had been staring at his phone for fifteen minutes already.

'You still coming?' he had sent, to Hana, and hadn't received any answer.

Unease grew in his chest, expanding until it reached every nerve, his body taut with tension.

This was not normal. Hana was never late. There was light in her apartment but she wasn't answering, just like when she had isolated herself from him. And it wasn't so much the thought of her avoiding him that alarmed him—though it stung.

It was the possibility that something could have happened.

He got up, the thought kindling urgency in his mind, and went back to the building. He had to check if she was alright. His instinct was prickling with a nasty foreboding, and his instinct was rarely wrong.

 _Please, be wrong._

The elevator opened at her floor, and he strode out of it, toward her apartment. When he reached it, his hand hovered near the door, for just a moment of hesitation, but he rang anyway. And knocked. And knocked again, and texted her.

No answer.

Even when she had been avoiding him, she had opened the door.

 _Something happened._

This certainty fueled every fiber of his body with worry. He grabbed the door handle, cursing decency, and opened the door, no matter the lock. He closed it behind him and rushed in, looking for any trace of her.

Her coat had been hastily thrown on the sideboard with her tie, her shoes thrown across the entrance corridor.

Without waiting, he stepped into her living-room.

He saw it, then. A mosaic of broken glass bathing in a pool of wine. Dry blood on the tiles. Reddened documents all over the place. The upside-down chair. And her.

The world stopped. Panic hit him, brutally so. Icicles thrust into his chest. He darted to where she lay, crushing the pieces of glass, his temples pulsing with worry. One thought alone burnt in his mind, shutting down all the others, driving his body forward: making sure she was alright.

He squatted near her, touched her shoulder, but flinched when she yelped in her unconsciousness. He waited a few seconds, then tried again, and this time, she let him.

She was sobbing, but passed out.

Something broke in his chest. What had happened to leave her in this state? So small and vulnerable, hurt and suffering, so everything she refused to show. His whole being seemed to collapse at this precise moment, as he reached for her face and checked her breathing, looked on her body for any wound, any bruise, any cut.

Gently, he cradled her, supporting her as much as he could. He froze when she abruptly jolted, again, guarding herself from whatever hurt she feared. But as he slid his hand under her knees and lifted her, she melted against him.

He slowly carried her to her room, his heart so heavy with emotions when her hand tugged at his shirt. Overflowing from the tension that had suddenly died down, bleeding in his chest.

It only occurred to him, then, just how weak he had grown for her.

* * *

Strong arms were carrying her. Strong arms, strong chest, strong and warm body against hers. A beating heart. Pulsing veins. A life. A warm fire to make her feel again.

And at long last, the calm she had so desperately sought. The blissful silence. The truce she had longed for. The shelter against her storm.

White musk and a solid frame.

Him.

* * *

 **10:45 P.M.**

The doorbell rang repeatedly while Killua was cleaning the glass on the floor. He opened the door to a livid Thomas and a grim June.

"Where's she?" Thomas asked, eyes wide with worry.

"In her bedroom," he barely replied, Thomas rushing past him to check on her.

He stared at him go, just as June came in and closed the door. "She sent him a message to ask for help," he explained. "He's been dead scared since then."

"It's not the first time it happens, right?" Killua asked, his words tasting wrong in his own mouth.

"No. That's why. The last time it happened, she was in such a bad state he thought she would get alcohol poisoning."

Killua cast a worried glance toward her bedroom. "I only found her by chance. We were supposed to meet tonight."

"Do you know what happened?"

"No. She hasn't said a word since this afternoon," Killua said. "She seemed okay, when I texted her this morning."

June sighed, moving to the kitchen where he helped Killua clean around. "Hana always seems okay," he bitterly said. He didn't say anything more, but the tense crease in his forehead and the dark veil on his face said everything. Thomas wasn't the only worried one here; June was just better at hiding it.

Violent coughing sounds interrupted their silent task, followed by toilet flush. Thomas reappeared a few minutes later to take a glass of water.

"She threw up?" June asked.

Thomas nodded. "She's gonna have the worst hangover."

Killua felt his chest constrict as a wail resounded from her room. As though his heart was being torn in half. He was about to follow Thomas in her room when June caught his shoulder. "Don't hurt yourself like that. He's taking care of her."

Killua stared at him, wide-eyed, only now becoming aware of the lump in his throat and the frantic heartbeats in his ears. He nodded, though he remained unconvinced, and kept working with June until the floor was clean.

They sat together then, waiting for Thomas to come and tell them she was okay. Both focused on their hands, both quiet. Sometimes, Killua's eyes wandered to the crystal vase sitting on the glass coffee table, with its bright flowers glistening under the lights. They seemed out of place with their colorful blooms.

The sullen atmosphere in the apartment weighed on them, a thick fog reminding them that their friend was suffering and there was nothing they could do.

The memory of another friend tittering the edge of self-destruction flared in Killua's mind, filling his whole being with horror. He tried to shoo the memory of jutting bones and charred flesh away, of the bristle, bony hand so weak in his own, but it latched onto him, chanting its deadly declaration over and over: there was nothing he could do to help his friends against their will of self-destruction. Nothing in his control, nothing his love and his care and his determination and his willingness to help could do. Nothing. He could be with someone on a daily basis and sleep and eat with them and _live_ with them, he would still be unable to know what was going in their mind and help them against themselves. He was doomed to watching his friends try to destroy themselves without ever managing to stop them, no matter his efforts to help.

And that was the scariest thing ever.

Thomas came back an hour later. "She's fallen asleep," he said, and Killua noticed then that his eyes were red. "I'll stay with her tonight."

June nodded. "Okay. I'll go," he announced, though he didn't seem to want that. Killua realized he surely wanted to give his boyfriend some space with his best friend, although he didn't say so.

Killua got up too. "I'll go, too. But I need to see her first." Need, not want. To see her sound asleep and replace the picture of her sobbing in the wine pool.

Thomas nodded toward the room. "Go on."

Killua walked toward her bedroom, and once again, the world narrowed down to her.

She was lying on the bed, on her side. She had kicked the blanket away, and he saw it folded in a corner. Thomas had surely given up on covering her.

He sat down next to her, slowly as to not wake her up, even if he knew she was too wasted to even register his presence. He brushed a lock of hair from her face, fingertips gently grazing her skin. His eyes fell on the Band-Aid on her arms and her feet, lingering, until he exhaled and looked away. He had tended to her wounds himself, yet he knew best her biggest wound wasn't something he could help with against her will. He was completely powerless.

Again.

It drove him crazy. The thought that he could lose her the same way he had nearly lost Gon, years ago, haunted him. And the fact that there was nothing he could do plagued him with helplessness.

He knew Thomas felt the same way. One look at his tearful eyes sufficed, and while a part of Killua felt reassured to know she wasn't just avoiding _him_ , a much bigger one died with worry. Because if she was avoiding even the person she told everything, her best friend who could tell every one of her sighs and laughs apart, then who did she have? Was that not a blatant wish to self-destruct that she proclaimed? Isolating herself, drinking herself to death, refusing to open up, keeping to herself when she desperately needed to purge the poison… He shuddered.

There was no denying it.

He rested his hand on her cheek, his tension lifting when her features eased down under his touch. His thumb fondly stroked her cheekbone, the feather-light contact so relieving.

He was aware that he had grown weak for her. So weak he had given her the power to hurt him, and he ached each time she bled as though the wound was his. In that sense, he could relate to Thomas, but only partly. Because even though he was just the same as Thomas—a friend who cared for her and desperately tried to reach for her— he also harbored deeper feelings for her. A different kind of longing that resonated within himself, a profound pull so fierce yet gentle, a secret murmured with more certainty each passing day. A whole different kind of weakness.

But what was worse was that he had no regret; he would rather be hurt by any of his loved ones than give up on them. He would rather feel the agony and the worry and the goddamned frustration than let them go and self-destruct. He was collateral damage, but he didn't care. He was solid. He could bear it. And he would bear it.

A thousand times over.

Thomas came in at this moment, offering the smallest smile he could manage. Killua drew back his hand, a bit embarrassed that he had been caught being demonstrative.

"June is gone," Thomas said, pretending he hadn't seen Killua's hand stroking her cheek. "Thank you so much for being here for her."

He shrugged. "No problem. I didn't do much," he replied. It was barely an exaggeration; he felt like what he had done was so far from what she needed.

But Thomas shook his head. "You do help a lot. I know it may not seem like it, because lately shit's been happening and she's been overstressed with all her issues, but I can see it. She's the most hopeful she could be in such a situation."

Killua managed a weak smile. "If you say so." He stole a glance at her sleeping figure, her eyebrows knit together even in sleep. "I wish I could do more."

"I do, too," Thomas admitted. "But that's not possible without her cooperation. She's been driving me crazy for three years, refusing to cooperate, and I can't know when she's in a pit except when she's too deep and whatever survival instinct she still has kicks in and calls for help." He clasped his arm. "I know she's trying, but her first instinct is always to shut herself out."

Killua exhaled. "That's so frustrating."

"It is. I don't know what to do with her sometimes. And I feel like she herself doesn't know what to do."

"Has she always been like that?" Killua risked.

Thomas's eyes grew dark. "No. Only after her mission. She used to be so open about her feelings."

Killua nodded, dwelling on one thought: that mission with the Whisper had nearly destroyed her. And each time, she tried to finish the job. Flirting with destruction, as though it was all she knew, the only way for her to cope, even if it left her more hurt than ever once it was over. He shivered at the thought, refusing to accept it.

"I want to help her," Killua admitted, to Thomas, to himself, even to Hana's sleeping form, as though somehow she could hear him.

Thomas's expression warmed up, his eyes softening with gratitude. "You already do. You probably feel useless, and I can't blame you for that because I feel the same sometimes, but you do make her feel better." He paused, and seemed to fidget with his next words. "I can't be everywhere and always here for her, especially that I struggle with issues of my own, so I have to confess, I'm a lot more reassured to know that you're here for her too. That she's shouldered and in good company, and that she's surrounded herself with good people like you. She has a lot of friends, more than I could have in ten lifetimes, but so few close friends that she lets in and trusts."

Killua's heart swelled with these words. He wasn't quite sure what he had done to deserve this trust, but he was thankful anyway. "I'm glad." He didn't know what more he could say. That was too much to take in, and he felt too touched to find words. "Thanks," he tried anyway.

He was met with the same slight awkwardness. "No worries. I'm just telling the truth."

Killua searched for Thomas's eyes. "She's lucky to have you," he honestly said.

Thomas rose dubious eyes to him. "You think?"

"I don't think; I _know_. And I know she loves you a lot. More than you think. She talks about you like you're the eighth wonder of the world."

With a small twitch in his face, Thomas looked away. He didn't reply, instead becoming even more awkward.

"I'm gonna leave," Killua then said, hiding his reluctance. He wanted to stay, but Thomas needed some time with his best friend. "Take care of her."

"Yeah, I will."

They exchanged their phone numbers, and Thomas gave him June's as well, in case anything happened and they needed to contact each other. It was reassuring to know they could count on each other.

Killua left then.

He went back to the court, needing some fresh air to wash the acidic smell of wine away. Yet, even when he was out in the cold, even when he took deep breaths of air thick with sap and petrichor, the intoxicating smell clung to him. And so did the picture of her hurt form curled up in a ball, bleeding and battered and bruised. How fragile she had looked then, like he could break her with a sigh. Her vulnerability so blatantly exposed to him still weighed on him, as though he had seen something forbidden, something he knew she wouldn't have wanted to show him or anyone.

Vulnerabilities were sometimes more baring than nakedness.

He was well-placed to know that.

* * *

 **Thursday, April 23rd**

 **1:45 P.M.**

She woke up with a headache ramming in her brain, a violent stab of pain piercing through her heavy sleep. She frowned, opened her eyes to a hazy picture of lights filtering through the curtains, cast on the wall and the ceiling. She stared at the sunny stitches sewn on the walls until they were no longer blurry, and craned her neck.

Where was she?

She tried to sit, but grimaced when pain shot through her body.

What had happened?

She managed to lean against her pillow, her joints popping and cracking as she moved on the bed. With a huff, she settled, and looked around her.

Her room came into focus. There was a blanket folded on the bed, a pillow thrown on the floor, and a book whose title she couldn't make out.

She tried to remember what had happened the day before. Her mind was a thorny mess of tangled thoughts, a broken movie of mismatched scenes flickering into her memory. Each remembered detail stung and scathed, always demanding more efforts to conjure their dreadful content. She painfully recalled all the elements from the day before, each sending a tremor of fear in her body—the fight with Aleon, the Whisper's puppets, the talk with Allan and Bee, the questions with Coal, the feeling of being defeated, the powerlessness, the panic. And then, nothing. Just the headache hammering in her skull, aching muscles, mysterious bruises and scalding cuts, and a nausea simmering in her stomach.

That meant only one thing. And when Thomas entered her room, big dark circles stretching under his reddened eyes, her heart sank with realization.

"Tom," she croaked, coughed and cleared her throat.

He handed her a glass of water. "Drink slowly. You're gonna throw up if you drink too much too fast."

She took the glass and silently sipped the water. She avoided his eyes, focusing instead on the glass and her hands, on the sting of water on her chapped lips, on the faint quiver of her fingers. Crushed by shame and regret and that burdening guilt. As though these three emotions dominated her whole life.

"Hana," he called her, his voice so soft.

She swallowed. How could he so soft when she had just caused him to pull an all-nighter of worry and anxiety? She was undeserving. "I'm sorry," she blurted out, cursing herself for her the clumsiness of her words. "I did it again. I'm so sorry Tom, and I know I don't solve anything when I say that but, but I'm sorry, and I don't deserve you and—"

He pulled her into a hug. Surprised morphed to relief, relief to sorrow, sorrow to tears streaming down her face. And she buried her head in his neck and cried and cried again, and somewhere in the back of her mind a quiet voice told her that she cried a lot lately and that perhaps, just perhaps, that was what she needed.

"Don't say that," he said, holding her still against him. "You deserve so much good, if only you'd let it reach you."

She didn't reply, too busy sniffing and sobbing to form intelligible words. She still couldn't understand why he stayed when she had disappointed him so many times, when she had made him feel so inadequate each time she fucked up and wallowed in self-pity. What did she have to make this friendship worth the trouble? Bad jokes and pastries? Was that worth all the times she had shown up uninvited to his apartment after a drunk near-one-night-stand that hadn't unfolded well? All the times she had shut herself out while he desperately tried to reach for her?

Was it?

"I'm sorry," she repeated, her mouth finally agreeing to cooperate. She gripped his shirt, refusing to let go of him. She felt so safe around him.

"Stop apologizing." He loosened the embrace, gently pushing her so he could look at her. "Tell me what happened, instead. I want you to stop shutting me out."

She nodded. "There was a huge problem at the bar where I work. I was watching this guy, and suddenly he was yelling and attacking people. So I went after him, and —" his hand blurred her sight for a second, a dreadful second during which her insides folded on themselves and her body shrank to a trembling figure. "He had the flower on his hand."

Thomas frowned. "The flower?"

"The Whisper has a flower tattoo on his palm. I couldn't see it well back then, because it was dark and his glove was only half burnt. But it's the same flower, I'm sure of that. And the same gesture." She shuddered. The hand reaching for its victim, the flower coming to life on the palm… All the details were still fresh in her mind, the only clear thing in her confused memory.

He paled. "Your guy was the Whisper?" he incredulously asked.

"No. It's worse than that." She flexed her hand, picturing an amaryllis on her palm, then chasing the picture away. "The Whisper has puppets. He could be manipulating anyone to kill on his behalf." She sighed. "And when I learned that, I felt so… weak. And terrified. Really terrified." Like the world was coiling itself on her. Like it would burst out of her mind and swallow her whole. Like her entire existence meant nothing.

Like she was trapped.

Thomas brushed her bangs away from her face and squeezed her shoulder. "It's okay to be scared. I'd be scared too—anyone would be. You're incredibly courageous for putting up with that."

She shook her head. "I'm really not. I don't _want_ to put up with that. I just want to forget everything and… and I think that's what made me drink. I wanted to forget how I felt and forget that mission and everything linked to it."

"But you can't forget, Hana. It's not healthy to cling to that hope that someday you'll forget. Trauma doesn't just go away, and you don't forget traumatic experiences. You learn to live with them and heal yourself until they're no longer hindrances in your life and no longer influence your emotions. And it can take an awful lot of time—you're not broken, or fucked up, you're healing."

"I've been healing for three years, and yet look what I did. It's like it all went to waste, everything I tried to do to feel better."

"It didn't go to waste. Relapsing is part of healing," he said, and took her hand. "Don't be so harsh on yourself."

"But I did it again," she repeated, at a loss for arguments.

"It's okay. You're gonna try to not do it again." He squeezed her hand. "I'm here to help you stand up again, and so are all your friends and your family. That's all I ask, Hana: let us help. Let us carry a bit of your burden, and make things easier for you."

Her heart jumped at his words. He was asking for so little, and yet she could barely do it. "I want to," she admitted.

"Please, keep trying. You've done so much for me, for June, for so many people. You've given so much of yourself and you've gone to huge lengths to help us. I want to do the same for you, because I love you and you're so important to me. I swear I'd kill that Whisper myself if I could, but I can barely kill a cockroach, so I want to help in any other way."

Her chest filled with emotions just as her eyes filled with more tears. She nodded then, silently asking for his arms again. He granted her one request and sighed as she scooted closer to him.

They stayed like this for a moment, a long moment during which she repeatedly promised to herself that she would try to improve and get better at dealing with her friends and her trauma. At least, after this grim episode, she finally felt like she had the energy to face her fears and look for answers and, perhaps, try to rely on her friends and open up.

When she broke the hug, he told her he had made chicken noodles, and she laughed lightly when he said he hadn't dared to cook something else. "You should rest today," he announced as they huddled on her couch in the living room to eat. "Sleep early and sleep a lot. You'll think about work later. You still have too much alcohol in your blood and it's better to purge it while resting."

She acquiesced, embarrassed to be the reason he knew so much about alcohol. She eyed the food with a dubious expression, taking chopsticks even though she wasn't hungry. She knew she had to eat something, though in small quantities, but the thought was nauseating. She slurped the noodles anyway, forcing herself to eat.

"Also," he continued. "Tomorrow, you should text Killua and tell him you're okay."

She stopped munching, widening her eyes.

 _Killua_.

"Oh my God," she said, and swallowed when he frowned at her for speaking with her mouth full. "I was supposed to meet him yesterday. Is he okay?"

Thomas stared at her as though he knew she wouldn't like what he would say next. "He's the one who found you."

She widened her eyes, her mouth gaping. "He _what_?"

"He got worried when you didn't come, so he checked on you and he found you." He fell silent. "He's the one who tended to your wounds."

Her shoulders dropped as her hand flew to the Band-Aid on her other arm. "He saw me like this," she thought aloud. "He's seen so little of me and I'm already showing him my worst sides…"

"He seemed more worried than horrified, if you ask me."

She exhaled through her nose. "I keep making everyone worry."

"We worry because you don't say a thing and then suddenly we find you passed out and sobbing in a pool of wine."

 _Ouch_. She hunched a little, wishing she could undo what she had done. It would have been easier if the pain was hers alone, but in her stupid desperation, she had dragged them all with her.

His gaze softened, then. "I'm not saying that to blame you."

"I know. I promise I want to try to be better," she said.

He smiled. "He wants to help, too."

"Killua?"

"Yeah. He really looked genuine." He paused, settled his gaze on her, and continued. "He really cares about you."

Her heart lurched. "You think?"

His smile grew amused. "I don't think; _I know_ ," he said, as though there was a secret meaning to that reply that she couldn't guess. "And I can understand why. You're really amazing." He smirked. "For a nerd."

Her lips quirked up. She welcomed this new warmth in her, a soft glow that changed so much from the gloomy atmosphere of the day before. "Thank you so much."

They ate together in silent, sometimes joking about something silly while she tried her best to eat half of her cup. He brought her a glass of water and a painkiller when she was done.

"I feel like I'm a hundred years old," she said, cringing at the raspy undertone in her voice. "With my sandpaper voice and achy limbs."

"You look like you're a hundred years old, too," he joked.

She managed a small laugh. "Thank you so much for staying when I'm such a frustrating fuck."

He grinned. His eyes shone with a turquoise spark, a look of such unabashed affection she couldn't help grinning back at him.

"It's worth it."

* * *

 **A/N:** Aha, now you know. You know why I did all these weird things in chapter 5 and why Aleon even existed in the first place. Some of you had guessed what would happen (you know who you are ;) ) so kudos for that and I hope you enjoyed those twists!

Also, yeah, now you know why those puncture points exist and why the Whisper has an amaryllis tattoo on his palm.

 **Anyway, what did you think about the twists?** The revelations about the Whisper's ability? Did you see that coming? Did you _like_ it?

What about Hana's reaction? Killua's fears? The Thomas/Hana friendship? The optimistic outcome?

 **What was your favorite moment?**

Please tell me what you thought! It motivates me so much to keep writing :')

I hope you liked this chapter! It's a bit gloomy compared to what we've had so far, but consider it a turning point for Hana. I don't intend to waste away this touch of optimism. Next chapter will have more of the usual balance too.

Speaking of which, next chapter is called **Charybdis**! I'll let you think about that ;)

Thank you for reading and see you next chapter!


	13. Charybdis

**A/N:** Hi hi! I'm publishing a little early, I hope you guys don't mind ;) I want to test updates on weekends to see if it's better for you. I hope you're feeling good!

On the news side, **chapter 15 is finally done** and so is a good part of chapter 16! Special thanks to my Bestie and Broccoli because they motivated me to write again when I was feeling down, and I'm forever thankful for their precious and funny input *w* I love you guys! (except Broccoli) (Broccoli sucks) (jk you're not that bad) (or perhaps...)

On the random side, I've finally caught Mr. Mime hahaha. I'm impatient to go on a serious Pokémon hunt (perhaps tomorrow, we'll see).

As always, thank you so much for your feedback! You guys are amazing and I love every single one of you.

I'm gonna stop talking and leave you with this chapter instead. Not to spoil anything, but there's a lot of fluff involved, so read on ;)

* * *

Chapter 12: **Charybdis**

* * *

 **2:35 A.M.**

He watched the TV in the dark, his unfocused eyes barely catching the bright pictures that tore through the darkness. He closed his blanket on him, shivering. The nights were cold in Megamshill; they had always been.

All at once, the pictures shifted on the screen, the sudden change catching his attention. A name was written in bold written as the title of this news edition.

The Whisper.

Again.

He scoffed. What kind of name was that? The Whisper. That was just bad taste. A show they made for the people, a vibrant story in which he was the villain and they were all the poor little lambs awaiting slaughter from him, the Big Bad Whisper. A tragedy rewired by masters of deceit to make a political statement and issue a debate no one wanted to be part of.

Especially not him.

He sighed. He tilted his head back, until it touched the stone wall, and opened his eyes. He watched the wide patch of light coming from the TV flicker on the ceiling as the pictures moved. He barely heard the news anchor anymore.

Finally, he switched off the TV, and rubbed his knuckles, soothing the cold away. He had always had cold hands. His wife would always say that, whenever they lay together in the dark and confessed their secrets, whenever he traced the outline of her beautiful face with those cursed hands of his. There was a time when that had been his reality.

Not anymore.

He turned his hand, brushing the vicious amaryllis on his palm. Dark, graceful, poisonous. Essential. The only reason they were surviving. The same flower his wife had kissed, without an ounce of disgust.

And he sighed again, giving in to the exhaustion.

The Whisper, right?

He let out a miserable chuckle.

He wasn't a whisper. He was a roar of indignation. Fear and guilt alike savagely pounded in every fiber of himself. There was no quiet part about him, no _whisper_ in this body filled with grief.

All the people he had killed.

All the people he had lost.

He closed his eyes.

There was no Whisper.

That man was a myth.

But he wasn't a myth, or a whisper, or a delusional psychopath who found relief in the grief he caused, or the reason safety measures had to be reinforced.

He was just a man with cursed hands who had run out of luck.

* * *

 **Friday, April 24th**

 **4:15 P.M.**

Killua read and reread the article he had found the night before in the batch he had copied in the Daily Economics archives room, almost with wonder and victory. He had been looking through the copies since the morning, and finally, he had found it. The one article he needed. With all the proof he needed to inculpate Mulgrad for Priman's abduction.

It had taken fourteen days and eight archives room to scour through and a thousand pages of old newspapers to read before he found it. And it was all worth it.

All he had to do, now, was to pay Mulgrad a visit and confront him. With that article, he couldn't deny anything.

He was still staring at the article when he received a text from her.

'Hi… Thank you so much for helping me. I'm sorry I didn't answer your texts sooner; I was out of it the whole day, yesterday. And the day before that too. And probably every day.' She stopped, then typed something else. 'I'm sorry you had to see that side of me.'

He lingered on the last sentence, reading her words over and over. And sighed. 'No problem. And don't be so gloomy. That side of you isn't a monstrosity. Can I drop by?'

He tapped his phone against his hand while he waited for her reply, staring at the screen. 'Sure,' she said. 'I look dreadful though. You've been warned.'

'How does that change from the usual?'

'You asshole,' she fired back. 'I've missed you so much.'

A smile tugged at his lips. 'It's been two days only,' he teased.

'I've missed you so fucking much,' she repeated. Obstinate as usual.

He let out a small chuckle. 'I've missed you too,' he sent, surprised by how easy the confession was. When had he turned into an affectionate pile of feelings?

He let go of his work, just the time to pay her a little visit. He brought two chocorobots with him, and two minutes later he was ringing her doorbell.

She opened quickly, a tired figure hidden in an oversized shirt and short shorts. "Hey," she croaked, and cleared her throat. "I've been practicing for my witch voice."

"Nice. You almost sound like a crow." He took a glimpse of the dark circles under eyes, her lack of makeup, the messy bun on her head, her bloodshot eyes. "You do look awful," he commented, hiding the lump in his throat with a joke.

She snorted. "I'd warned you. Come in."

After making himself home, he followed her to her living-room. The last time he had been there, a wine pool had been dripping on the floor, drowning broken pieces of glass. Now it was entirely clean. He was burning to ask her what had happened, but he figured he had to be cautious and wait for her to bring up the topic, since she was the one who had texted him first. He didn't want her to completely shut him out when she had initiated the conversation. Sometimes, he felt like one of those beast hunters trying to help wounded animals, avoiding abrupt moves and carefully reaching for the wounds.

As he turned his attention toward the dining room, he noted a big box on her table. "I'm cleaning a bit," she explained, showing the various items on her table —photos, books, souvenirs, letters… "To unfuck my brain."

"Need help?"

"I'm almost done, but yeah, why not."

He put the books in the box, as she told him, while she served him a glass of lemonade. He stopped on the title of one of the books. _Little Women_ , by Louisa May Alcott. "What are you gonna do with them?"

"Give them to my dad's hospital. I read them when I was little, so I guess they could make some children happy."

He put _Little Women_ in the box, noticing a few clothes inside. "Do you still read?"

She flipped through some photos, frowning at their content, then glanced at him. "Not much. I used to read a lot more when I was little, but now not that much. I'm not a big reader. More of an occasional one." She made a stack of photos, put them in a little box, and started flipping through another stack of photos. "What about you?"

"I read sometimes," he said. "I'm hard to please though."

"Picky reader?"

"Picky with too many things, according to Gon's aunt."

"Aunt Mito," she guessed from memory.

He smiled. "Right." His eyes fell on a photo escaping one of the stacks she was browsing through. He took it, staring at the boy posing in front of an ice-cream shop. Thin, short, with the softest shade of blonde in his hair and sea green in his eyes. He was blushing, grinning, small dimples digging in his cheeks.

Killua realized then that Hana was staring at him, and he flinched. "Sorry, I didn't mean to look through your stuff."

She laughed a quiet laugh. "You totally did," she joked, and he relaxed. "What's troubling you?"

"Who's he?" he asked, turning back to the sea green eyes in the photo. A premonition nudging his mind.

"That's Feri," she said. With sorrow, and nostalgia, but infinite care. "It was the first time we hung out for fun and not for the exam, so I took a photo of him."

His premonition suddenly made sense. Feri, her friend, the boy who had succumbed to the Whisper's curse. His eyes coursed down the planes of her face, the slight heaviness of her eyelids, the rueful veil in her eyes. "Do you miss him?"

She returned his gaze. "I do miss him. A lot." She put the photos with the others, in the box, and brought the box to her room, ending the conversation.

With a discrete sigh, he watched her go, his curiosity begging to be quenched. Now that this friend of hers had a face, he wanted to know more about him, and about their friendship. Nothing she would tell him now, though.

When she came back, the short-lived sadness had left her eyes. Together, they carried two boxes to her room where she had stacked a few more clothes. She put them in one of the boxes, then they slid the boxes under her desk. "I'll drive them to the hospital next week," she said, then sighed with satisfaction. "Thanks," she beamed, and he just shrugged, pretending her beautiful smile hadn't just set his insides on fire.

"No problem."

She remained silent, and her gaze took a serious edge. "I owe you an explanation," she said then, the atmosphere changing to something more solemn. "And an apology."

"What for?" he asked, though he knew what she was talking about. Explanations he could do with, but apologies?

"For what I did on Wednesday. I know you were waiting for me and I didn't come."

"I don't care about that. We can meet at the court anytime. I'm more worried about what happened to put you in that state."

She nodded. "Thomas told me you found me." She took a deep breath. "The Whisper has puppets —people he manipulates to kill for him. The man I was spying on for a case is one, and he nearly killed a waitress at the bar before I stopped him. And another murderer, the one Lynd caught, was also a puppet. I panicked when I realized he could be anywhere, reach anyone." she paused, wording her thoughts. "When I tried to stop the man at the bar, it felt like I was reliving the mission all over again."

He watched her, her panic suddenly making sense to her. His thought whirled in his mind as he realized just how huge the issue was, both for her and for Maya and Leorio. Anyone could be suspicious, now. "So that's why," he said, his voice a quiet whisper. He hated to think she had had to relive her traumatic experience.

She acquiesced. "I'm sorry for making you worry."

"It's fine. But I really want to help you."

She smiled then, a sight that warmed him up. "You can be so adorable, sometimes."

"I'm always adorable," he joked. He wanted to reach for her hand and hold it and tell her everything would be alright, but after what she had said, he really wasn't sure anymore. He tried to put himself in her shoes, tried to imagine just how unbearable it would be to know her most feared enemy could crush her from anywhere, without a hint or a warning, and even then he knew he couldn't begin to imagine her fear. "Do you know if the HCDS has made its move?" he asked more seriously.

"A few hunters came to stop the man. I believe they keep him in quarantine in the HCDS quarters, along with the other criminal, to watch them and their symptoms. I think they might try to study them so they know what to expect from the Whisper's valets. They can't just alarm everyone; imagine the chaos. People are already freaking out because the Whisper is back, and he's on every "breaking news" edition."

"Yeah. But the HCDS has great resources when they put their mind to it. I think they can help."

"I suppose. They're still looking for people strong enough to work on the case."

She wasn't giving him any detail, but whoever was in charge of the case had probably asked her to participate. As the sole survivor, her implication could indeed drive the case forward, but the toll on her health would be dreadful. He didn't want to imagine that.

She went out to the living-room then, cutting short to the conversation, and offered him a —nonalcoholic — drink.

On their way, he remembered the true purpose of his visit. "You know, since everything is shit lately and the Whisper is being a royal ass, I was thinking that it would be cool to relax."

"Sick rhymes," she commented, chuckling when he gave her a long look. "Relax how?" she asked.

"How about we watch a movie tonight? At my place? It would be nice, to change the mood."

She blinked, startled. "Sure, I'm always up for a movie."

"Good. I made some samosas and a pie. I need a taste tester." His smirk died. "Will you be okay? Not too tired?"

"I'll be fine," she assured. "I just have one request though." He tilted his head, gesturing for her to keep going. "Can I come in my pajamas?"

He grinned. "Of course. Even better actually, because then I can just stay in mine."

She breathed out with relief. "Thanks. I don't feel strong enough to bear with a bra just yet. Sometimes, I hate bras."

"Same, though not for the same reasons," he joked.

She laughed then. "Stop talking nonsense and let's eat some cupcakes, okay?"

"Wooh, cupcakes," he exclaimed, which made her laugh more. It seemed like everything he did made her laugh —not that he was complaining. In return, every time she laughed, a fuse broke in his brain and he became a little dumber for her. Dumb with feelings.

 _Ugh._

She took the cupcakes out of the fridge. Tiramisu cupcakes; she had promised she would try them, sometimes. While they sat down at the now empty table with the precious sugary masterpieces, she told him about her most exciting baking journey, and gave him her recipe —she had found it online but had adapted it to her lack of flour.

Meanwhile, he just listened. He liked doing that. Just listening to what she said, even when he didn't understand, and watching her. Watching her cheeks get rosy and her eyes get brighter. He leaned on his elbow, nodding as she explained how to make the tiramisu frothy. Mentally taking notes of her techniques for his own pastries. Laughing when she tried to shove one in his mouth. Shivering when her fingers brushed his lips to remove a crumb.

And slowly, ever so slowly, melting.

* * *

 **7:45 P.M.**

His doorbell rang.

He got up, leaving Mulgrad's documents on the desk, and went to the entrance.

When he opened the door to Hana in oversized pajamas with unicorn patterns, a coat and flip-flops, discovering his own mismatched sweatpants and chocorobot hoodie, they laughed together.

"Epitome of sexiness," she said while he let her in.

"What? You don't like my chocorobot hoodie?" He pulled the hood on his face, unable to tame his grin when she burst out laughing.

"It's the chocorobot's head! Oh my God, Killua, you turned into a giant chocorobot."

He removed the hood. "And you're a giant unicorn."

She flopped on his couch, hugging her knees. "A unicorn and a chocorobot. That's worse than a donkey and a dragon." She sat up. "What's this?" she asked, pointing at a small wooden box on his coffee table.

He scratched his cheek, a sheepish smile tickling his lips. "Well, I sort of copied you and cleaned a bit today during my breaks. I found these." He opened the box, and let her peer inside.

She blinked. "Photos?"

"Yeah." He took a photo from the box. "Gon took this photo of me when he bought his camera and developed the photos. He gave it to me." She took the photo, eager to see it. "I had just turned twelve."

It had been Gon's first camera. The first photo he had taken was of Killua, but it wasn't the one he was showing her. This one was one of the many that had followed. For some reason, it seemed that Gon liked taking pictures of Killua. (Also, Killua was almost sure Gon had accidentally invented the selfie, because there were so many pictures he had taken of himself while trying to figure how his camera worked.)

Gon had given a few to Killua, who kept them in his only fixed home, in Megamshill.

Hana took the photo and stared at it, as if she were mesmerized. Her eyes widened like it was some kind of treasure, and the corners of her lips quirked up. "Oh my god, you were so tiny and cute," she said, scrutinizing the indeed tiny version of him, bored eyes and fluffy hair.

He smiled. She was liking the photo. "Yeah, I was pretty adorable."

She grinned and crinkled her nose, amused. "I love this photo. Tiny Pocket Killua."

He snorted. "Slow down there."

"Still. Pocket Killua. Thumbillua."

"Not gonna comment," he warned, though he was chuckling with unbridled humor.

She tipped her chin up, pleased with her joke. "You were so adorable. Look at that cotton-candy hair, those cheeks, that pout. God, you were too cute. What the hell happened to you?"

"Puberty. I became hot instead." He shrugged as if it were obvious.

"Can't argue there." She resumed looking at his photo, all shiny eyes and rosy cheeks and dimpled grin. She didn't even realize she was the adorable one.

"You want to keep it?" He asked, butterflies tumbling in his stomach when she raised those huge hopeful puppy eyes of her.

"Is it okay? Isn't it important for you?"

"I've got other photos —photos where we posed together. I like those better," he said, his voice betraying none of the fluttering sentimentality in his chest. (Double _ugh_.)

"Oh, okay then. I'll keep it. I love it. Oh my god, thank you so much. I love Pocket Killua."

"Thumbillua," he snorted.

"I'm so happy you're showing me those things. I've peeked into a lot of lives but peeking in yours is so cool. Very satisfactory."

He sat next to her. "Now, how about you let me peek, too?"

She puckered her lips and looked up, as if she were pondering her answer. Then, she tilted her head and shot a flirtatious smile. "Peek where exactly?"

He smirked. "In your life or in your shirt, you decide. I wouldn't mind either." Oh he really wouldn't mind.

Her impish gaze never left him. "Either way, the sight is amazing."

"You're eluding my question," he warned, used to her sleek way to cover questions she didn't want to answer with humor and flirt.

"What do you want to know?"

"I don't know. Just tell me." The photo of Feri came back in his mind. A flicker of hesitation veiled in his eyes for a moment.

But she noticed. "You want to know about Feri?" she asked, and her voice was more solemn but still soft.

He held her gaze. "Tell me about him."

* * *

"Feri and I met during the Hunter Exam. We had to board a train to reach the place of the first exam, but there were limited tickets, so we paired up for the treasure hunt to find our tickets. I hadn't expected to find kids my age, and he was completely lost, so we made up for each other's lacks.

"We didn't instantly click. He was super shy, but had a short temper, and the mixture was something awkward and snappy. It didn't help much that I had no idea how to deal with him, and wouldn't stop talking. I was nosy, and unlike him, I had infinite patience. I pretty much drove him crazy.

"Nonetheless, we ended up being friends. We went through the exam together, tended to each other's wounds and looked out for each other. We had a goal in common, too —to become crime hunters. Him, because he wanted to find out what had happened to his father. Me, because I had known crime hunters all my life and was fascinated by the job. So we worked together, and passed the exam together."

She paused for a moment, a moment during which she thought would start crying. A thought crossed her mind, a memory, followed by another, and yet another. Replaying the ceremony when she, Feri and three other graduates celebrated with their examiners the end of the Exam, and their success. The talk she had had with Feri, on the balcony, far from the laughs and the dances and the quirky games of the party, rewound in her mind.

" _I'm scared," Feri said, avoiding her gaze as though it would burn him. "We've made it, but I'm so scared now. Of what could happen, or how to make it happen, or whether or not I will ever find out what happened to my father."_

 _She reached for his shoulder, and squeezed it. "I'm scared too, but it's okay. It's just the beginning. We've got time to figure out what we have to do."_

 _But he shifted, uncertainty dwelling in his gaze, torment stirring in his sea green eyes. "I don't know. I'm scared of failing." He stopped talking, his next words hovering in the air, but he finally rose his eyes to hers. "Bee doesn't want to know what happened to our father. She says she's fine with not knowing. She despises me for leaving her and mom, and for wanting to become a hunter, like our father."_

" _Well, not knowing is her choice. If you want to know, to be a hunter like him, to live your own life, that's your choice too. You respected hers, so she has to respect yours as well."_

 _He chuckled. "I'm talking about Bee here. She's even more stubborn than you."_

 _She stuck her tongue out. "Not true. I'm sure I can beat her."_

" _It wasn't a compliment, you know."_

" _Whatever." She sat cross-legged. "Are you going back home, then? With Dragon-Bee waiting to roast your butt?"_

 _A moment passed during which different emotions warred on his face. Indecision, worry, regret. Guilt. "I don't really want to yet. I want to return when I have something to show them. Not just a piece of paper that says I'm a hunter when I really don't feel like one."_

" _You know what?" she said then, and beamed like she knew how to. "You could stay with me. We could train together."_

 _His hesitation shrunk as his smile grew. "Tell me what you have in mind."_

The memory rocked through her being, overflowing until she was sodden with it. She realized, only now, that if she hadn't said a thing, if she had let Feri go, then he would still be alive.

She withered, just a bit, with that knowledge. Never had she wished so much to go back in the past and force her past self to shut up.

"Hana?" Killua called her. She met his gaze and saw his hand, near her. "Take my hand," he said.

She squeezed it, greedy for his touch. His safe, reassuring touch. "Thank you," she breathed. And she went on. "After passing the exam, I suggested we trained together. My teacher had a two-year long mission to complete in York Shin, and before I took the exam, he had told me to join him once I passed to train with him, before going back to Megamshill." She gave a rueful smile at the mention of Allan. He had been so certain she would pass, and she had been so terrified to fail him. She didn't know, at the time, that later on she would fail him in worse ways.

"Feri tagged along," Killua guessed.

"He did. I told him to come train with me, and he accepted. My teacher took care of both of us and then took us as apprentices at the HCDS, two years later. You know the rest of the story."

"Your teacher," he repeated, his expression unreadable.

The name bumped on her tongue, but she forced it out of her mouth. "Allan Fox. You may have heard of him. He still works at the HCDS." She cracked a smile. "He was on the Wonderland case before you snatched it from him."

But Killua didn't smile. "Maya told me he was your teacher."

His words struck her. Bitterness foamed in her chest, confusion fogged her mind. Had he been curious about her? "How does she know? And how do _you_ know?"

He had most likely caught the sting of betrayal in her voice because he squeezed her hand, soothing her sudden vehemence. "Relax. I didn't say a word about you. I always ask you directly when I'm curious about you. Fox is the one who told Maya."

"But why?" More confusion, more worry. Why would Allan even mention her?

"To tell her he knew you personally and knew you were trustworthy. Or so she told me."

She dropped the shield. Her shoulders sank. "Why would Allan say that?" she said in a small voice. It would have been easier if he didn't trust her anymore, no matter the irrational anger it would cause in her.

"I don't know. But whatever happened between you didn't deter his trust in you."

She didn't know whether to welcome the thought or fear it.

She realized then that she was still holding Killua's hand, clinging to it for his comforting contact. She let go of it, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Thank you for holding my hand," she said. She wasn't sure about how comfortable Killua was with physical touch, but she was thankful for him remembering the little things that made her feel better. Like holding her hand or touching her shoulder, or letting her talk without interruption.

He shook his head. "Thank _you_. For telling me about Feri."

She just shrugged. "It felt good to talk," she admitted. No matter her reluctance to open up, she couldn't deny that it was relieving. Especially when he looked at her with those serene eyes of his. It made her feel protected.

"That was the aim." He stood up to bring a large plate full of samosas and another filled with a pie. "Let's eat while we keep talking."

She took a samosa, her stomach emitting a fairly ungraceful noise that caused them both to laugh. "Tell me about you, now," she said.

"What do you want to know?"

She thought of his family, of the uncertain portrait she had drawn of them in her mind. "I don't know if I can ask."

"My family?" he guessed.

She nodded. "So far I just know your mother isn't balanced and one of your brothers is nicknamed Pig."

"Hmm. Well, ask questions. I wouldn't know where to start."

"Your father?"

He rose his eyes to the ceiling, seeming to think. "Strong. Domineering. Manipulative. A very skilled assassin." He made a noncommittal noise. "Very muscular, too."

She had expected his voice to be full of remorse, but none of that. He spoke of his family the same way he would of a distant acquaintance, one with whom he held no strong emotions against. "Okay, he sounds… intimidating."

"He is."

"Your mother then?"

He frowned a little, the sight quite funny to her. "Different. Sort of high-strung and very dramatic… Theatrical, I'd say. She wears overly frilly Victorian dresses and shrieks a lot."

"… She sounds interesting." Her next question tickled her mouth, but she wasn't sure she could ask it.

He poked her nose then. "No walking on eggshells around me," he warned. "Tell me what you have in mind."

"But what if the question upsets you?"

"Then you'll learn something about me," he replied as if it were obvious. "Aunt Mito says you get to know people best when you learn what makes them angry."

She smiled. he spoke of Aunt Mito as though she was his aunt and not just Gon's. Then again, he spoke of Gon like he was his brother. "Alright, then, do you love your parents, still?"

He blinked, more taken aback than upset. "I don't hate them," he hedged.

"What about your siblings?"

"Three brothers, one sister." He finished a samosa. "Eldest brother is a dick. He likes to fuck with my brain and is kind of obsessed with me. It's really creepy, to be fair with you. Second brother is also a dick—I have a very pleasant family. He's the one I call Pig. He hated me for some reason—jealousy, I suppose. He lashed out at me whenever he could."

"Fuck him," she hissed. She had an idea about what lashing out, Zoaldyeck style, meant. Anger sizzled in her when she thought about the torture Killua had had to withstand—even if he hardly cared. Perhaps even because he didn't care. Only the worst kind of violence could desensitize a person to the hurt they had withstood.

She shuddered at the thought

"He wishes," Killua snorted. "My youngest brother is a mystery to me. He is always with my mother."

"And your sister?" she asked. His face grew infinitely softer, a display of such pure tenderness it touched her.

"Alluka," he started. A smile found its way on his face, one of the gentlest she had ever seen on his face. She wanted to pick it up and treasure it. "She's the one I got along with the most. We played together and told each other everything. We were in our own little world, together."

"Why did you leave, then?" she blurted out, only then realizing that she might be crossing a boundary. "You don't have to answer this."

He waved it off, as usual. "I did leave —without her. My eldest brother had put a needle in my brain to manipulate my memories and my reactions—a dickish nen to match a dickish person."

"No big deal," she mumbled, every fiber of her body already loathing that brother she didn't know.

"Well, it backfired and I left after that, since I didn't remember I had a sister I loved. I had no other reason to stay than her."

"And then you remembered, you removed the needle," she guessed.

"Yeah. Eventually." His eyes grew darker. She knew then that this was not a pleasant memory.

She fidgeted with her napkin. "Is your sister still at the mansion?"

"Nope."

"Where is she now?" she asked, cursing her damned nosiness when yearning spread in his eyes. For all she knew, Alluka could be dead and she had just rekindled the horrible memory.

"Somewhere safe."

 _Somewhere_. Such a vague word, a thick shield to protect his sister. She couldn't blame him because she understood him. Of all people, she was probably the one who could understand best the safety of a secret, the fear of letting it out, the discomfort every time the subject was brushed. So as much as she wanted to know where Alluka was and what had happened to her, she didn't press the issue.

He had respected all her silences. The least she could do was respect his.

She changed the topic instead, to talk about something more lighthearted. "You wanna know about my family, too?"

His smile was back. "I've met your dad already."

"Very quickly. You haven't gotten to see just how adorable he is. He's literally the kindest man ever. Soft-spoken, patient, delicate. He's like, what a marshmallow would look like in human form."

"Nice. What about your mom?"

"That's the funny part. My mom is like… a dragon. She's intense, impatient and fiery. But funnily enough, she's cold-blooded, whereas my dad is always panicking." Her face lit up. "When they got married, people thought they wouldn't last. But they've been together for twenty-five years now."

He whistled. "In their face. Every marshmallow needs some fire to bring the best in it." He nodded at his own words. "I should be a philosopher."

She munched on her pie, thoughtful. "Now that you put it that way... People don't need to be perfect matches in order to have a fulfilling relationship."

"I actually think there's more room for growth when both people in the relationship are different. Obviously you need some things in common and some compatibility, but you learn more about the world and about yourself when you're in a relationship with someone who sees things differently. A new angle, basically."

She shrugged. "In theory, I suppose. I've never had a fulfilling relationship," she said. She hadn't meant that as a gloomy statement, but Killua still glanced at her—as though to make sure she wasn't about to cry. She had cried her eyes out on his shirt, after all, she remembered with embarrassment. She realized then that there was no more food. "I didn't feel time pass," she commented.

When she turned her head back toward the coffee table, she realized then that there was no more food. "I didn't feel time pass," she commented.

"I have that effect." He stood up to put the empty plate away, Hana following him with the pie plate, stubbornly refusing to let him work alone. She grasped this opportunity to scan the shelves asymmetrically lined up on his walls. A few books sat there, but she mostly noticed souvenirs. Photos, artwork and craftworks from various places. She recognized a porcelain statuette of Oeva, the Tanalean goddess of love and family, sitting next a bright nutcracker in her usual scarlet dress. Her grandmother used to have so many statuettes that no one had the right to touch in her Forbidden Cabinet filled with old china.

When they reached the kitchen, she gave him the plates while looking around for the little things that made this place his home. The small hints through which his personality transpired. She opened cupboards and peeked in his drawers and looked inside pots and boxes. He was pretty organized, he almost rivaled with her.

She was aware he was watching her with amusement, but she was way too eager to satisfy her nosiness. She loved sticking her nose in people's stuff, even if that wasn't decent—perhaps the forbidden aspect had a lot to do with her eagerness. Besides, if Killua really minded, he would have told her.

She found a set of spices from the Tawny Valleys in the country's traditional clay spice jars and sneezed after sniffing them—which earned her a smirk and a snarky remark from him. She stuck her tongue out at him—but still asked if he needed help doing the dishes, which he denied—before going back to her Great Exploration.

She opened a cupboard and gasped at the huge number of candies in there. Cookies, cakes, chocolate bars, and a bunch of snacks that very nearly chanted ' _I will rot your teeth and kill your liver.'_ " Of course, at this point, she had to tease him. It was mandatory. She had found something she could annoy him with, she _definitely_ wasn't going to let that slip.

So, she started talking, and talking, and debating with him, and exchanging rounds and rounds of witty jokes with him to make fun of his sweet tooth—even though, if anything, it made her melt. All the while keeping her attention focused on her discoveries—the boy had a taste for luxury brands, apparently.

When he finished doing the dishes, he had to drag her to the living room so she stopped snooping around. She found herself way too pleased, laughing out loud while he tickled her so she moved forward. In the end, she complied but promised herself she would come back to all the things on his shelves until her curiosity was quenched. His apartment was one of those that looked modern and classy, with neutral colors and deep red everywhere, but the souvenirs and the art hidden here and there added a personal touch she liked a lot. She would need more than a few minutes to scour through everything—and find new evidence of Killua's nerdiness.

 _God, I'm so shameless_ , she thought. She was making plans to snoop in someone's house. Or well, not someone. Killua. Perhaps that was why she was so impatient; she wanted to know him in all the possible ways, as corny as that sounded.

"You're worse than me when I was twelve," he said as they sat down on the couch.

"Did you just compare me to Pocket Killua?" She snickered as he groaned. "You liked snooping around before?"

"Too much. Gon and I once got in trouble because I had insisted on exploring the Hunter Association's blimp."

"I bet you saw the ' _do not trespass'_ " sign and took it as an invitation."

"You bet your ass I did. It's not true exploration until you snoop in forbidden areas."

She tipped her chin up. "I hope you got your ass beat."

"We did, if that makes you happy. Poor Gon was gloomy because we had gotten in trouble."

"Look at you, traumatizing kids and giving them trust issues because you can't sit still."

"I was _twelve_ , for God's sake. You're worse than I was and you're almost twenty."

"Not even true."

He rolled his eyes. "Anyway, are we watching that movie or not?"

"What movie are we watching?" she asked.

"You choose," he gave her the TV program. "Wanna go to my bed instead? It's more comfortable."

At the word 'bed', her brain nearly exploded. She rose tentative eyes from the magazine, searching his face for any innuendo —not that she would mind _that_. At all. She _most certainly_ wouldn't mind _that_. "Holy shit, you're inviting me to your _bed_. That's like, third base."

"How am I the horny one here?" he joked, while she trailed him to his bedroom — _his bedroom_! How much exploration could she do there? Perhaps he had plushies—or condoms in his nightstand, that worked too— or perhaps he had a giant closet filled with more secret snacks for his midnight candy cravings, or perhaps—

Wonder sparked in her eyes when she saw his bedroom, shutting her thoughts up. He had removed the wall and had replaced it with a _glass_ wall, a black-framed tinted glass door in the middle. He pushed it open, and she entered the bedroom, turning back to see the corridor to the living room through the glass. "I love this," she said.

He gestured to his bed. "You'll love that even more."

She swiveled, looked at the queen size bed practically calling her, and threw herself on it. "Bliss," she sighed, her voice muffled by the mattress. The whole bed smelt like him. The soft, white musk scent; elegant, spicy and masculine, yet so gentle.

"So, you like it?"

She peeked at him, still relishing in how mellow that bed was. "Yes." She sat up. "Not very convenient when you sleep naked, but pretty cool, as long as you're not having a guest."

"I wouldn't sleep naked if I'm having a guest, you dumbass."

She shot a flirty look. "You sure?"

He smirked. "Yes, I'm sure. Don't give me ideas." He sat on the other side, switching the TV on. "Here, take the remote."

She crawled toward the front of the bed, sat, and rested her back on a thick pillow—he had no plushies, but he did have a bunch of fluffy pillows.

He removed his hoodie then, staying in his sweatpants and a simple tee-shirt underneath. He extended his legs in front of him while she tried to figure how his TV remote worked—everything was complicated in other people's house. She knew she was starting to get close to someone when she knew how the shower and the TV worked at their apartment.

There were no Disneys on the program, so she chose an action movie she had never heard about before—her favorite action movie, _Deadpool_ , was already ending.

Then, he switched off the lights so they could watch the movie.

Needless to say, with his body so close to hers, she never managed to pay attention to it.

* * *

 **11:34 P.M.**

They both lay on his bed, side by side in the dark, watching the movie on the TV.

Or well, watching was an overstatement. Because he certainly wasn't watching. Not the movie, at least. He tried his best to focus on it, but it was hard when she was that close. He barely caught a few bits of conversations —something about a killer and victims and… stuff. Lots of stuff. Action stuff.

But his mind always wandered. To her body next to his, that shifted from time to time. Her arm that brushed his. Her leg close to his. Sometimes, he glanced at her, at the way her eyelashes curved, at the fullness of her lips, at her perky nose. At the light caressing her profile with a soft flow.

She didn't say anything, but she didn't look so captivated either. He wondered if she felt like him. The attraction. The heat. The restlessness.

"Killua?" she called, snatching the little attention he had been giving to the movie.

"Hm?"

"Can I rest my head on your shoulder?"

He discreetly took a deep breath. His neck grew hot; his pulse was a mess. "Yeah," he just said.

She shifted closer. So close he could smell her hair. And she rested her head on his shoulder.

He opened his mouth, breathing in. Silently, because he didn't want her to know he was getting flustered because of something so… innocent. He even gave up on focusing on the movie. If he had had trouble doing so before, there was no way for him to focus now. Instead, he focused on her. The voices grew distant. He only heard her breathing, and his heartbeats. The first regular, the second frantic.

He moved a bit to make her position more comfortable. Somehow, as the movie kept unwinding —he heard some explosions at some point, surely something big happening — he grew less stiff. More relaxed. To his own surprise, he wrapped an arm around her waist. To bring her even closer. He felt her melt and move until her body rested entirely against his, her nose nuzzling his neck as she shifted. He rested his chin on her head, her perfume filling his nose.

And it was so perfect.

Her body against his. Her breath on his skin. Her hair in his neck. Her hand on his chest.

And her skin. The tiny bit of skin peeking from below her shirt. He brushed it with his fingertips around her waist, his thumb drawing circles on it, a bit embarrassed that this little skin could make him feel so hot, but too dizzy to care. So dizzy he didn't even care that she _knew_ how dizzy he was, because her forehead was against his neck and his heart was wild in his chest.

So, he just enjoyed the moment. Praying for the movie to never end so that he could keep her against him for a longer moment. He never wanted it to end.

But the movie did end. Neither of them moved. They just stared at the screen until the TV automatically switched off and they were plunged in the dark. Unmoving and silent, their bodies intertwined in a bundle of warmth.

"I don't wanna move," she said.

"Me neither." She was quiet, expectant. He wasn't sure what he had to do. "You wanna sleep here?" he risked, his heart banging so damn hard he thought it would run away. Her breasts against him didn't help much, and the thought of staying with her all night, to touch her and feel her breath and smell that grapefruit scent on her for hours on and —

"I do."

 _This is either the best idea I've had or the worst_ , he thought. He prayed for his hormones to stay quiet, but the stirring in his stomach was hard to control as the desire pulsed in his whole body.

She drew the blanket to them and lay against him, her body tucked against his as it had been made for that.

She fell asleep shortly after that.

He was unable to sleep, though. He didn't want to. He wanted to stay awake and drink every second spent with her against him. Never had he thought that this evening would unfold like this. With them sleeping in the same bed, so close they could feel each other's pulse and catch each other's softest breath. He almost couldn't realize it, still catching up with everything that had happened. Still wondering _how_ it had happened.

But he had no answer. And he didn't need any. She was here with him, and that was all that mattered.

Eventually, though, he did fall asleep. Entranced by her scent and her breathing, her chest that pressed against him, the comfort he found in their contact. So warm and tender and restful.

He had never slept so well before.

* * *

 **Saturday, April 25th**

 **9:02 AM.**

She woke up before he did, hugging one of his pillows for warmth as the blanket had been kicked to the floor —by him. The sheets were tangled in their limbs, a mess of white cotton wrinkled on the bed.

A sleepy smile was the first reaction she had when she realized two things.

One, he was hugging her in his sleep, his chest against her back, his breath tickling her nape. She could barely believe that his strong arms were around her, a warm tether to safety. Hell, she could barely believe that his whole body was so tightly pressed against hers. She could make a nice little spoon when he was the big spoon.

Two, she hadn't had any nightmare. None. Zero. For the first time in days, she hadn't dreamt of anything gloomy. She didn't even remember dreaming. There was just the restful emptiness of a dreamless night.

She replayed that last thought, on and on.

She had actually slept, that night. Eight hours. Without waking up. When was the last time she had slept so long, without any interruption?

She moved on the bed, turning around to face him. He looked so young, his cutting features smoothed by sleep. His eyelids looked like they would flutter open any moment. She gazed at the curve of his dark eyelashes, the pout of his lips, the feathery strands of hair caressing his forehead. She gazed at him, and her heart swelled with affection for this boy who had taken her hand when she had shriveled, held her when she had cried, listened to her while she babbled unintelligible words, and now this. He had chased her nightmares away.

Gently, she reached for his hair, fingertips brushing a few strands from his forehead.

He had seen her at her worst, and yet he had stuck with her. Through her breakdowns and her irrationality and her frustrating isolation, her tears and her drunken panic and exhausting behavior. Many would have slowly backed down after getting a glimpse of just how messed up she was —people had their own issues to take care of, and she couldn't blame them.

But he didn't. If anything, it made him strive to get even closer to her. Their bond had grown stronger with each confession of their past they had shared and each breakdown he had witnessed. It was a bit dizzying to realize she had already shown so much to him, that he knew more about her than most people did, that he had made her _trust_.

When was the last time she had felt so safe around someone?

 _I have faith in you._

He suddenly frowned, and opened one absent eye.

"Hey," she greeted.

He smiled groggily, still half asleep. Not saying anything, just looking at her with his soft gaze. Until his smile grew playful, and he turned away. "No. Not yet."

She blinked then, slightly startled, but quickly regained her composure and knelt on the mattress. He wanted to play? Well, she was ready to play. " _Yo_ , wake up now, I'm feeling lonely. I'm your guest, you have to take care of me."

"Nuh, I don't care," he said in the mattress, moving away from her as she reached for his shoulders. "Let me sleep."

"But you're awake!" she said, "Let's have breakfast together."

"No."

"Wake up, Killua!"

"No."

"Pay attention to me!"

"No!"

"Get out of bed," she repeated.

He groaned. "Nooooo." He covered himself with the sheets.

"Oh c'mon! the sun is bright today!"

"No!"

She moved closer, bent so she was almost face to face with him. He opened his eyes, piercing blue against the white sheets. "I'll give you a kiss if you get up."

He seemed to consider her offer, but then buried his head in his pillow. "You're bluffing," he mumbled.

"I promise I'm not! You get up and you get a kiss. Deal."

But he just groaned some more. "I stay in bed and you get to kiss my ass."

"How rude," she said, though she was laughing. "How am I the annoying one!"

"How are you _not_ the annoying one?" he said from his blanket fort. "Who wakes people up at dawn on weekends?"

"You woke up by yourself. Besides, what dawn? It's 9 A.M.!"

He grumbled. "Eat a dick."

"I wish," she said, then caught a pillow before it hit her face. "Hey!"

"That's _not_ what you reply when people insult you."

She scoffed. "Whatever. It's now or never. If I leave now, you won't get any kiss. So?" He didn't say anything, so she stood up and started walking away.

He sat up at this moment, and she stopped. He glared at her with half-asleep eyes, the imprint of his pillow webbing on his cheek. "I hate you so much, Hana." He then swung his legs over the bed, got up, and stretched—which made his shirt move up _just_ enough to peek at his delightful "V".

(What a sight to wake up to.)

"See, wasn't that hard," she said, crossing her arms.

He ran a hand in his hair, opened an eye, then the other. He was beautiful, sleepy head and fluffy hair in the pale morning light, his ice blue eyes glowing in the sun. "The kiss," he demanded. "Or else I'm not going anywhere."

She walked closer and left a feather light kiss on his cheek, lingering just enough to smell the soft white musk and the bedsheets on his skin. She felt like a middle-schooler, but for once she felt _young_ , rather than feeling like she was having her mid-life crisis. When she stepped back, he had closed his eyes and was grinning wide, a bright grin that lit a sun in her whole body.

"Congrats on getting up. You've earned that kiss," she said.

His grin laced with mischief as he reopened his eyes. And he gave her the other cheek. "Has this cheek earned one too?"

She burst out laughing and gave a light punch on his shoulder. "You like my good morning kiss."

"That's how you should wake me up every day," he mused, and the thought was so pleasant. "It's better than waking up to twenty messages and my phone buzzing like a fucking truck."

She offered a toothy grin. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever. You definitely do." He nodded toward the glass door. "Let's have breakfast. I need to take care of my _guest_ ," he said, and they went to the kitchen together. "What do you want?"

"Whatever you have," she replied.

He turned around, raising his eyebrows. "My tastes are not suitable for everybody."

"Still, I wanna know what you have in the morning."

He shrugged. "Heh. Okay then. You've been warned. You better not complain after that."

She sat on a stool, leaning on her elbows while she watched him.

He was moving around the kitchen, pouring some cocoa powder in two mugs, taking whole milk from the fridge, opening a cupboard for sugar. He put the milk in a small saucepan and waited for it to boil, sometimes stirring it.

He was silent the whole time, the only noises being those of his spoon in the saucepan or her humming. It was a comfortable silence, without any expectations, wrapping them in the calm of a restful morning.

She felt her cheeks warm up when she imagined what it would be like to share every morning with him. Waking up with his arms around her and his lips in her neck, joking and fooling around in bed and kissing him to wake him up, watching him prepare a hot chocolate she knew would be too sweet, just for her. And the easy silences between them. Picking up each other's breaths and watching each other's habits.

It stirred something in her. Longing, perhaps, for a time when things could be like that. For a reality where he was hers and she was his. It was confusing — _dizzying_ — to crave someone that much, so much that even when she was with him, she couldn't have enough of him. What she felt for him was dangerously growing into something deeper and bigger and stronger. Something that made her so eager and so scared at the same time. Eager, because she bubbled with emotions she hadn't felt in so long —wonder, anticipation, impatience, affection, want, desire, jealousy, fondness. But scared, because her one experience with something so deep had left her empty-handed and alone.

She didn't want to lose herself as she had before.

And she didn't want to lose _him_.

"Here," he interrupted her thoughts, placing a cup of smoking hot chocolate in front of her.

She grinned, already knowing that her throat would hurt from the sweetness of the beverage. "Thanks."

He sat next to her after placing a few toasts in a plate between them, with a small spoon and Nutella. "It's been so long since I had a chill breakfast at home with a friend. The last time was probably with Gon."

She glanced at him after taking a sip of hot chocolate —definitely too sweet. "When was the last time you slept with a friend, too?"

He stopped midway before taking a bite of toast. "What kind of _sleep_?"

"Platonically," she quickly said. "Geez. Sharing the same bed."

He smirked. "Even when I traveled with Gon, we had separate beds."

Whatever he was implying, she liked it. "So I'm your first platonic-sleeping-together."

"I don't usually sleep with people for platonic reasons."

Her heart skittered as his smirk remained plastered on his face —was there some kind of double entendre in his words? "I suppose you don't usually spoon your friends during sleep either."

He blinked, and showed a sight she never thought she would have seen: he blushed. A light, sweet blush, barely brushing his cheeks. "I did that?" he asked, both amused and a little bit shy. It was so endearing.

"You did. You were hugging me like I was your long lost teddy bear returning from Plushie Heaven."

"That explains the mouthful of hair I choked on during the night."

She glared at him, touching her hair on the back of her head. "Did you eat my hair?"

"Not on purpose," he assured and rose his hands. "But long hair is always a trouble when you spoon."

She shot a cheeky look, liking where the conversation was heading. "I could be the big spoon, then. I bet your back is comfortable to sleep against."

"It is." He blinked, again. "Weran didn't like to be the big spoon, though. He said my hair was too soft and it tickled his nose."

She ignored the jealousy that itched at the mention of his ex-boyfriend. "I guess it's like waking up to a cat snuggling under your nose," she thought aloud.

"Kinda, I guess." He eyed her with interest. "I prefer a kiss, though."

"You sound like you liked it."

"I wouldn't mind another."

"You have to earn it, though. They're not free."

"How do I earn them, then?"

"Praise me. Tell me I'm amazing."

He snorted. "Hell no."

She snickered, poking him ceaselessly while he tried his hardest not to smile —and failed.

Ten minutes later, he had finished eating his breakfast after taking his time —she was too busy talking to eat — but he waited for her before standing up and cleaning around.

She offered to do the dishes, and he thanked her, telling her he would be taking his shower in the meantime. At the word shower, she cast a flirty look at him that, far from startling him, merely made him shake his head and smirk—and slip in an equally flirty remark that she should join him.

Then, he was walking away. She eyed him as she headed toward the sink, her gaze surreptitiously roaming down his lean body, his tall frame moving away from her. With the gracefully sensual roll of his hips.

He turned when he reached the corridor, playfulness glinting in his eyes as he caught her staring —no matter how fast she leveled her gaze. And he slapped his own ass. "Sexy right?"

She burst out laughing, for the second time that morning. "You cheeky bastard!" she exclaimed, and he blew a kiss at her. "Go take your shower!"

He laughed, his silvery laugh twisting her stomach in delightful knots as her own face lit up with unabashed mirth. Later on, she would remember this moment as the one she had decided she never wanted him to stop laughing, so free and uninhibited.

More, she loved being the reason for it.

He left for good after that, smoothly disappearing in the corridor, leaving her with stars prickling in her body and clouds light in her head and her skittering heart so stubborn on breaking speed records. Even when he was in the bathroom, the sound of pouring water on shower tiles reaching her in the kitchen, she still heard his laugh echo in her head, still felt her own joy spark and fizz in her chest, still slept in the warmth of his presence embracing her into safety. Her previous thoughts rolled back into focus while she scrubbed the mugs in the sink.

One realization bloomed amid this mess of feelings: she was mistaken. She didn't have to fear the possibility of her feelings growing deeper and her fondness bigger and her affection stronger.

It was already happening.

* * *

 **Monday, April 27th**

 **10:36 P.M.**

Mulgrad's mansion was a cold beast of modern architecture towering atop a small hill. As Killua prowled in the shadows of the high walls enclosing the estate, he reviewed the map he had managed to memorize after sneaking in the cabinet of the architect who had designed this massive monster of marble and steel. Nothing that should have impressed him, if only for the coldness that oddly reminded him of his own family's mansion, a death trap of metallic arches and heavy walnut doors. The only difference was that his father's mansion was an image of his menacing power, carved after his somber, brutal intent; Mulgrad's was the reflection of his megalomania tinged with arrogance.

He jumped above the walls, right between two cameras whose ranges missed him by an inch, his movements lightning fast, and concealed himself in a spot where shadows gathered, in the gardens. The sensible thing to do would have been to infiltrate the mansion through the roof, as it was the only unguarded area—although cameras made sure no one could go unnoticed. Or at least, that was what Killua would have done if he had chosen stealth and discretion. But he wouldn't go down that path. He needed no stealth nor discretion. He needed prudence. Caution. _Success_. He needed to knock out all the guards. All of them. Leave no room for external help coming for Mulgrad and thawing his plan. After days of being trapped by the Anonymous, he had no intention of making it easy for him.

Not a single guard would stand after he was done. He would get to Mulgrad, no matter what.

With a quick scan of the area, he spotted a few cameras—including a few he assumed to have heat detection—hidden in the trees and along the edge of the surrounding wall. He needed to use Godspeed to rush past them, to escape their scrutiny and avoid having any footage of his face.

He focused on his nen, releasing the snakes of electricity that pooled around his feet. The sparks fused and snapped until they screeched with charges going wild, and a second later he had bolted for the front door, slipped in as it was being opened by a maid, knocked her out, knocked all the maids and guards roaming in the main hall, and stopped by the first floor. He repeated the task over and over, taking down guards patrolling in the corridors, sentinels laughing in the back gardens, maids and cooks and chauffeurs and butlers and any person who could have interrupted his mission. They would all wake up the next day with no memory of what had happened, would suspect a gas leak and would have the whole mansion checked for any flaw.

But for now, the mansion was his.

At last, he stopped at the last floor, deactivating the cameras with his electricity, as he wasn't using Godspeed anymore. He had charged himself up before coming there, but he couldn't waste it away. If anything happened, he had to be prepared to storm out—quite literally.

He lurked along the wall of the corridor, the black marble on the floor stifling his shadow. He sent a brief electric impulsion to deactivate the camera in front of Mulgrad's door for a moment, just long enough to slip through his door without being seen and hide in the corridor to his office.

Mulgrad's low voice came through the door in irregular bits of sentences. A phone conversation, Killua figured.

"—with you. Yes. Yes. Yes, absolutely. I understand. I'll have the package shipped to you in no time, as we'd decided. Worry not, the items will be in perfect condition. I have a reputation," he laughed at his own joke. Killua flinched at Mulgrad's next words. "I am aware, and I am deeply sorry about that. I had no idea Galivanos would cause you such trouble."

 _Elias_. Killua tensed up, patiently waiting for the next revelations.

"I had traded with him quite a few times before, although he isn't aware of that. He doesn't know me personally and never recognized me, as I always managed to conceal my identity. I believe he had never cared all that much about my clients, to be fair with you. I suppose the item you had offered in exchange for his services piqued his interest. I had never seen him accept a deal that quickly." Mulgrad went silent, waiting for his client's reply. "Ah, I am glad you managed to take care of this issue. It was a pleasure to deal with you."

The Anonymous. Mulgrad was talking to the person Killua was after, the one responsible for this whole mess.

A thrill of wildness went through Killua. The Anonymous was right behind this wall, a phone call away. He could leap inside and steal Mulgrad's phone and he would have a bigger hint than anything he'd had up to this point.

But if the Anonymous had been that prudent before, there was no way it would be that easy to catch them. Chances were they changed his phone number all the time, or appeared as an unknown number. What good would it bring to Killua, then? They would know that Killua had seen Mulgrad, and would thwart his plan. Again.

And if he did have a number, then all Killua would need to do was steal the phone. And that was well within his skill.

So he tamed his need for action and waited, until Mulgrad hung up and sighed. He heard the sound of leather squeaking as Mulgrad sat down, followed by ice cubes clinking in a glass. Slowly, he glided along the wall, his claws sprouting from his fingers as he prepared to show up.

Until Mulgrad sighed again. "What have I done?" he said to himself, the sound muffled as he surely buried his head in his hands. "Just _what_ have I done?"

Killua froze. Regret wasn't something he had expected to find that night, and yet... Could it be that his affiliation with the Anonymous had caused him some trouble?

A long exhale was all Killua got for an answer. Then, nothing. For a few endless minutes, Mulgrad didn't say a word. Then, at last, he pressed a button that emitted a buzzing sound. "Jean? Send me Alexandra. I need something to eat." Another silence. Another buzz. "Jean?" Annoyed huff. Leather squeak. Buzzing sound. "Jean, I will not tolerate any lateness."

"He's not gonna show up."

Mulgrad jolted upright, his eyes falling on Killua. "You are?"

"That's not important. I'm just looking for some answers," he answered, a smirk tugging at his lips at Mulgrad's incomprehension.

"How did you even get here, I… Where are the guards? Where is _Jean_?"

"I already told you. He's not gonna show up." he started walking inside. "Your guards are safe. Asleep. And definitely not coming for you." He followed Mulgrad's frantic eyes, growing impatient. "Is that what you're looking for?" he brandished a remote he had snatched as soon as he had been in the room—without ever being seen. Lightning came quite in handy for magic tricks such as this one.

Mulgrad widened his eyes, finally registering that he was pitted against him and couldn't call for help. "You… son of a bitch," he hissed, anger contorting his face in a disgraceful rictus, so far from the fake smile he plastered on his face in all his photos.

Killua lifted an eyebrow. The replies were always the same—boring, tacky, unoriginal. "Leave my mother out of this. I have a few questions to ask. If you cooperate, you'll be safe. But if not—" he disappeared, conjuring near Mulgrad in a split second, seizing his neck and pushing him back in his seat. Mulgrad gasped then, fear percolating through his wide eyes when he saw the sharp claws near his throat. "—We won't get along."

Mulgrad's breath came out in ragged, irregular exhales. He opened his mouth, prepared to scream, when Killua brushed his neck with his claws. "If you scream, I'll kill you," he said in a cold, even voice. "If you do _anything_ that inconveniences me, I'll kill you. I'm in a bad mood today, so you better try to stay in my good graces. Do you understand?"

With the weakest nod he could manage, Mulgrad agreed.

"Good." He drew his hand back to allow Mulgrad to calm down.

"What do you want to know? I have no idea who most of my clients are, I promise."

"I want answers. And I want them quickly." He leaned in, cold eyes staring deep into Mulgrad's. "Understood?"

"Understood," Mulgrad repeated, finding his voice. "Will you leave after that?"

"Without a scratch," Killua promised, stern as Mulgrad grew restless. "But that depends on how cooperative you are."

After clearing his throat, Mulgrad took a deep breath. He got up then, regaining some of his composure—and his dignity. He looked at Killua in the eye, as though he refused to be looked down upon, fighting back his instinct to cower as anyone would when facing Killua. "I'm listening."

"Tell me everything you know about Eugene Priman."

"What?" he exclaimed. "I— I have nothing to do with what happened to him."

"You bought weapons from a hunter on August 21st, last year. Those weapons were used to kidnap Eugene Priman. You most definitely have a say in what happened to him."

"I did buy those weapons," he carefully said, as though he trudged around the truth. "But I didn't use them. At least not of my own intention."

"I'm aware. Someone else did. Someone hired you to buy those weapons and kidnap Priman." Killua moved closer, menacing, a predator on the prowl. "I'm interested in that someone."

Mulgrad winced. "I don't know who they are, it was an anonymous contract," he said, his voice barely hiding the lie Killua felt in his voice. "But I can tell you what I know about them."

Killua arched an eyebrow. Mulgrad was clearly trying to buy some time, but chances were pressing the issue would make him lose his mind. Whoever the Anonymous was, he was clearly dead scared of them. "I'm listening."

"They contacted me two weeks before the date you mentioned. They needed weapons to kidnap someone—Eugene Priman, as you said, and his most trusted butler, whose name I forgot."

"Gayan Juma."

"Yes, him. I wasn't quite sure of why, at the time. But as the Southern Peace Auction came up, I supposed Priman had something my client wanted—something I know nothing about. They had me coordinate the kidnapping."

"So let me recap," Killua interrupted him. "Three weeks before the Auction, your client knew that Priman would acquire an item he wanted, and you agreed to kidnap him without even knowing why?" He raised an eyebrow. "With the money he probably gave you, couldn't they have bought that item themselves instead of stealing it from Priman and killing him?"

Mulgrad shook his head. "I believe my client didn't want to seem suspicious about their rivalry with Priman. I'm not even sure of what item it was—I suppose when Priman bought it, it gave my client more reasons to resent him, although they couldn't take action. Which is why they asked me to do it."

"And they trusted you, some random weapon smuggler, to help them without selling them out to Priman for a bigger sum of money?"

Silence fell then, doubt and fear alike dancing in Mulgrad's eyes. There was something he wasn't saying. Something he was terribly scared of. "I don't understand," he dodged.

"Let me refresh your memory." Killua took an article from his pocket, the one he had found a day ago that fitted perfectly in his puzzle. "Seems like you and Priman weren't quite getting along."

Mulgrad took the sheet of paper with feverish hands, reading the headline Killua himself had gaped at the day before.

 _ **INKIFT PAPER CORPORATION**_ **CEO EUGENE PRIMAN DENOUNCES ROBERT C. MULGRAD FOR HIS "SHADY ACTIVITIES"**

"Where did you find this?" Mulgrad whimpered. Judging from his shock, that was one of the few articles that had survived his vehement censorship.

Killua ignored his question. "Priman had all the proof of your wrongdoings, and he had refused your offer to rally your weapon-trafficking business. He knew way too much. You wanted Priman dead just as much as your client did."

"That's wrong. I had no issue with Priman."

"You did agree to kidnap him, though. You definitely didn't adore him." Killua smirked. "Or perhaps you had another goal in mind?" he continued, remembering the visas to Tanalea and the weapon trafficking accusations against him. "Something like rallying your anonymous client to your cause?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Mulgrad tried, the overly defensive edge in his voice betraying him.

"Whoever is paying you for all these weapons you're smuggling into Tanalea is probably a generous fellow. Surely if you managed to convince your anonymous client to help, that fellow would be even more generous with you. Am I wrong?"

But Mulgrad simply gaped, too shocked to deny the truth. "I—"

"The real price of your transaction wasn't the money your client gave you. That's not the reason you planned Priman's kidnapping. You agreed to help because your client would rally your weapon-trafficking business _and_ take down Priman for you. Kill two birds with one stone. Am I wrong?" he repeated, crossing his arms.

"Is your issue with me or with them?" Mulgrad snapped.

Killua made a noncommittal noise. "I'm not an idiot, Mulgrad. And I don't like being treated like one."

"Absolutely, I understand," he calmed down. "My anonymous client had agreed to give funds to another client of mine," he admitted, still withholding his personal issues with Priman from Killua.

"And that's the reason you agreed to help. Tell me the rest."

Mulgrad nodded. "I contacted a hunter who created his own gadgets, and used these weapons to plan Priman's kidnapping, on his way back from York Shin City. My client provided the men. They didn't want me to know what they were after. Their men were given instructions and training on what to do. I simply had to provide the weapons and a place for the transit."

"The transit?"

Mulgrad's eyes were lost in the horizon as he peered through the window. "Priman and his butler stayed in a place I own, for a night, before my client took care of them."

"Clarify," Killua demanded, eyebrows knitted together as Mulgrad risked a smirk.

"Eugene Priman is dead, dear. Did you really expect him to be alive after all this time?"

"Don't sass me," Killua hissed, taking a step closer, and Mulgrad lost all his bravado. Killua hadn't expected Priman to be alive, but he knew Arashi did, although she had never said so. How would he tell her that her husband had died for some asshole's personal weapon trafficking ambitions? "Where's the body?"

"I don't know," Mulgrad replied, coiling back to the scared rat he was. "My client took care of it."

'Took care of it', always, that same euphemism dodging the same brutal truth. Killua narrowed his eyes. Mulgrad wasn't lying. "Give me the place where they stayed overnight. _Now_."

Mulgrad's features tensed for a moment, and Killua almost thought he would try to make a snarky comment again. But instead, he grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled an address on it. "Here. You won't find anything there, though."

"I'll see that by myself." He read the address.

 _98, Salazar Romaero street,  
Warehouse B-3  
Zerenice, Megamshill._

He folded the piece of paper and put it in his pocket, glancing at a much quieter Mulgrad with disdain. The ease with which Mulgrad had admitted his involvement with Priman's disappearance was almost appalling. He really believed he was out of danger. And he really thought Killua was his only source of danger. "Needless to say, if you mention my visit to your dear client, I'll make sure to make you shut up. Permanently." He cocked an eyebrow. "Understood?"

Mulgrad gave a nervous laugh. "I understand. It's not in my interest to mention that visit."

"One last thing," Killua said, Mulgrad's short-lived relief evaporating. "What happened to the hunter you bought those weapons from?"

"What do you mean?"

"Elias Galivanos," Killua kept going, refraining a frown at the horror painted on Mulgrad's face. "You mentioned him, earlier, on the phone. From the sound of it, your client did something to him. What happened to him?"

There was no mistaking the terror tearing Mulgrad's face apart. He stood there, gaping, shock plastered on his face as his eyes searched Killua's. "You were here? You heard that conversation?" he replied, panic spilling in his voice. For a moment, he looked like those resigned targets Killua remembered from his childhood. The ones that didn't put a fight and accepted their fate, too desperate to give any other reaction.

Killua watched him with well-kept incredulity. After everything he had admitted, all he cared about was that Killua knew about Elias? That made no sense at all.

 _Unless…_

His eyelids twitched. Understanding dawned upon him, and a new plan soon bloomed in his mind.

Throughout his conversation with his client, with the _Anonymous_ , Mulgrad had to have mentioned his real name.

And he thought Killua knew.

"Whoops, busted," Killua lied.

Mulgrad's gaze was lost somewhere, his eyes void of any focus. "During all this time, you knew, yet you kept playing around," he continued, pointing an accusing finger at him. "You're a test right? _He_ sent you to see if I would betray him, right? RIGHT?" he bellowed, his voice vibrating through the whole room. He was losing his patience, his sanity, his composure. Everything that had held him together had snapped and he was folding upon himself.

Killua forced a smirk. Acting for the sake of the answers. "Maybe, maybe not. Perhaps he's sent me to know if you will tell him the truth about me, or if you will hide my visit to him. And you will never know." He sauntered around him, provoking him, mocking him with a fake sneer. Pushing him to the edge. "I could also be completely unrelated to him, and telling him about me would be a huge mistake. Either way, you're trapped."

He peered at Mulgrad who was sweating profusely, his eyes lost in front of him. "Who cares?" He laughed, again, another strain on Killua's patience. "Who cares, now? Be it by you or by him, I'm gonna be killed anyway." He slumped in his seat, pulled down by his own resignation. "What's the point? He has me cornered."

"He does," Killua agreed. "He had you cornered the moment he realized your cover wasn't perfect. Elias Galivanos gave you away because you hadn't been prudent enough. Do you have any idea how easy it was to find about you?" He scoffed. "And then you say you have a _reputation_?"

Mulgrad's shoulders dropped, heavy with surrender. His eyes grew glassy as he weakly stood up and walked away, dragging his feet. "What have I done?" he repeated the same words he had been saying before. He let out a pathetic chuckle.

"See the bright side," Killua pushed him farther, sensing how close Mulgrad was to spilling everything in a fit of anger. "At least you have been your own undoing. You can only blame yourself. You won't die telling yourself circumstances could have different." He tilted his head, his mind sizzling with anticipation as Mulgrad grew stiff with bottled-up wrath. "It's all your own fault."

"HOW COULD I KNOW!" He burst, throwing a glass on the floor and stepping on the pieces of broken glass. "How the fuck could I know? How? Just how! That was the best fucking deal in my whole life! Getting rid of that snooping asshole Priman while _doubling my wealth_? Do you have any idea about that? _Do you_? How much does he pay you to kill me? Do you think that's half as much as what he and those rebels gave me and everything I could have gained? DO YOU?" He stopped, panting, his face a wild thing creased with wrinkles and drenched in sweat. "How could I refuse?"

Killua watched him as he moved in circles, a wild animal stuck in a cage, unaware that he had built it himself. As if he were trying to figure out what to do, what to say, or how to further his anger. "He came to find me," Mulgrad said, as though he were talking to himself. "He did all this. He schemed and planned everything. He used me like he used others. He's trying to get rid of me like he got rid of them. And I knew that but I accepted. It was too _tempting_." He stopped, panting. "But what have I ever done to deserve this?"

"You betrayed him," Killua cut in, struck by the wide eyes that turned to him. "To save your own skin, you revealed everything to me. Perhaps to others. And you have the guts to say you don't deserve this?"

Fury flashed in Mulgrad's eyes. He was cornered. "You know what?" he hissed, his eyes riveted on Killua, barely sane, barely human. A beast about to go wild, about to spring from this eerie calm and burst in flames. "You're right. I _did_ betray him. I completely fucked him up without him ever knowing it." He tilted his head, a curious bird trying to assess Killua's thoughts. "But I guess he did come to suspect it. He probably sent you for that, right? So here. Have it. For twice the price he paid, I sold _all_ his information. I fucked him up. So when you're done gutting me, you can throw my bowels to him so I can shit on him one last time."

Killua grimaced. The real Mulgrad was a filthy creature. "I don't know which part of you disgusts me the most. Your lowliness or your stupidity."

He let out a wry laugh. "Low? Certainly. But however low I fall, I'm far from his level. I've certainly never betrayed my own father for my goals. He will stop for nothing. Nothing is too low for him. But it won't last. It's all gonna crumble. Some asshole will trap him just like _you_ trapped me, and he will fall just like I fell, and he will die the same death I died."

Killua scoffed. "What makes you so certain he plans to kill _you_? Don't you think there are worse things than death?" He felt the thrill of danger as Mulgrad narrowed his eyes. He was close to the edge. One last nudge and he would collapse and everything Killua wanted would spill out of him. "I could leave anytime. Disappear just like I appeared—without you ever knowing how I did and where I left from. I could go to the MGH, where I believe Philip Moreon Mulgrad is currently soundly sleeping, room 76 at the third floor of the Geriatric Service building."

Mulgrad threw the bottle of alcohol at Killua, who deftly stepped aside to dodge it, his feet soundless and light as smoke. The bottle crashed against the wall and burst in a myriad of glittering pieces. The alcohol pooled at Killua's feet. "Don't you touch him," Mulgrad snarled, his gravel voice growling with menace. "I don't care what happens to me, but _don't you dare_ touch him. I will strangle you with my own veins if I have to. That fucking asshole isn't worth a tenth of my father's life. He isn't worth _shit_. He's just a bastard born from a peasant and a whore, and that's all he will ever be, all _Erik Faem_ will ever b—" He suddenly stopped, choking on his own words, his eyes going wide, his voice coming out in erratic splutters of strangled cries.

Killua widened his eyes, and while a part of his mind registered the name — _Erik Faem_ — another tensed with trepidation at the sight in front of him. He sprang away as Mulgrad's body collapsed with a scream escaping his charred lips.

"What the—" Killua started, his back hitting the wall as he watched Mulgrad writhe on the floor, coiling and uncoiling and twisting with pain as his flesh burnt and scathed and shrunk. His body shook with violent spasms, his voice dying out as he gasped and wriggled on the floor, his eyes two bulging tearful orbs flanked in his charred skin. Smoke rose from his body and gathered in toxic clouds above him that nearly filled the whole room.

Except there was no fire.

And as Killua rushed for the window, jumping through it and landing in the grass of the back gardens, he knew that this was no normal smoke.

Because he couldn't breathe anymore.

He circled his legs with electricity and left the mansion, running as far as he could from the fireless smoke. As far his breathless lungs and abnormally aching body could take him before his legs gave way in a place he didn't know, a park of some sort, dimly lit in the late hours.

He dropped to his knees, his sight blurry and uncertain, choking on his own blood. He barely managed to hold himself up as he coughed and threw up blood, again and again, until his mouth was filled with its rusty, intoxicating taste. His breath came back in small hiccups, his throat burning with acidic pain, and he dropped on the grass, too weak to support himself. His body shook with a few spasms, although they were less intense than those that had rocked through Mulgrad's body. He gasped for more air, his breath still too irregular, his lungs still begging for more oxygen.

He was suffocating.

The next minutes passed in a blur. He wasn't quite sure of what happened then because he kept hovering between consciousness and unconsciousness; the lack of oxygen was causing him to faint and wake up repeatedly. All he remembered was a shape, at some point. A tall shape, and the glimmer of leather under streetlamps.

And a flash of bright teal. The only color in the darkness.

That was why, when he woke up the next day in his bed, his face clean from blood, his body still weak and wounded but definitely _alive_ , Killua was a little more than confused.

The card on his nightstand did nothing to enlighten him.

 _Killua,_

 _You're safe. You haven't been exposed long enough to die. You'll be groggy for a few days and won't be able to move, but you'll live. There won't be any consequences either—you had the good sense to leave immediately._

 _Elias Galivanos is alive, but he needs your help. Find him, and save him._

 _I have your back._

 _Your friend,_

 _Charybdis._

* * *

 **A/N:** Muahahaha. I bet you've missed by cliffies. Now you know why I called this chapter Charybdis lol. (Ah, but if you _knew_ …)

Anyway, **what did you think of the chapter?** Did you like it? What was your favorite moment? **Please let me know what you thought!** It motivates me so much to read your beautiful reviews ;')

I'm gonna make this short and end this A/N with a little hint: **next chapter is called Safe** and it's just as the title implies (no sarcasm, I promise, I'm not that cruel).

Bye and see you in two weeks!


	14. Safe

**A/N:** Yay, another early update. Hi guys! It's only been a week but I wanted to test something so I updated a lot earlier for that. Chapter 13 was actually twice as long before, but I'm testing shorter chapters to see if it's easier to read for you. That's why I cut it in half—I somehow figured 7k chapters were less scary than huge 14k chapters lol. The other reason I'm doing that is also to give myself more leeway to write; college is soon starting and I won't have as much time to write, so that gives me more time—it's easier for me to write 7k chapters rather than the usual huge ones. That's the price for regular updates, at least.

Anyway, on the news side, if you ignore the chapters I cut in half, **I wrote another chapter** (yeah, a monster chapter of 10k words) which is very important to the plot. Counting that new chapter and the ones I cut in halves, that means I have **19 chapters in total**.

On the random side, I HAVE A BLASTOISE! Okay, I got it through evolution. There's a Squirtle nest not so far from my building (in the backyard lol) so I'm blessed. (I also found a Snorlax and an Onix and a bunch of Eevees in my backyard…)

Another thing, I found a gorgeous fic last time and I'm sure a lot of you will love it! It's called **Among the Water Weeds** by _OooodlesOfNooodles_ and **it's just amazing**. It's about Killua being a father to the cutest little boy ever, and it's got everything to make you aww and smile and laugh and cry and scavenge for your knives as you prepare to throw them at the bad guys. Yeah, I just wanted to put this out there because damn I _loved_ reading it and it deserves a lot of love. So if you need something to read, **check it out!** (and if you need more fic recs, PM me and I'll give you a list, I've found some gems and I'm more than willing to share them.)

As always, **a big thank you to all my readers** , all the people who favorite and follow this story, and, especially, my beautiful reviewers. Thank you, forever.

Now on to this chapter! Not to spoil anything, but it's a very calm chapter. And there's no cliffhanger, no nearly-dying Killua and no drunk-to-death Hana and only calm. Hope you'll like it!

* * *

Chapter 13: **Safe**

* * *

 **Tuesday, April 28th**

 **8:48 P.M.**

 _Bloody hands. A rose gold comb. Terrified eyes. A twisted smile._

He stirred in his sleep, inhaling deeply.

 _Bloody hands. A rose gold comb. Terrified eyes. A twisted smile. A cross-shaped scar._

His eyes snapped open.

 _A cross-shaped scar._

He stared at the ceiling, his eyes lost in the sun's rays bleeding from the window. His breathing was shallow and his body rusted. When he turned his head, the glass walls of his room blurred, then multiplied, then only came into focus. He tried to move but winced in pain. His joints popped, his muscles seared under his skin, his whole body ached. A headache throbbed in his head when he managed to sit.

"Fuck," he breathed, his chest heaving, his heart heavy in his chest, his heartbeats echoing in his ribcage with a pressing force. The pain was so intense he felt dizzy with it.

 _What...?_

The previous night came back to his mind, weaving through the headache. The argument with Mulgrad. His outburst, when Killua had accused him. His revelations.

His death.

 _Right._

The oath. The nen oath that had killed Mulgrad. He had said one thing, one name, and then had collapsed.

 _Erik Faem._

Killua closed his eyes, his headache clawing at his head. He worked on his breathing, tried to take deep breaths, but even that hurt. As though his entire body had been skewered by invisible swords.

Eventually, some time later, the pain diminished. He wasn't sure how much time had passed; it could have been five, ten, fifteen or fifty minutes. But it didn't matter. He could breathe and think at last.

The first thing he thought about was that he needed to know who Erik Faem was. Problem was, he was in no state to run after some guy he had only heard of in articles. If even moving his arm cost him so much energy, there was no way he'd survive a nen curse. Especially not a curse that turned its victim into self-combustible pieces of charcoal.

However, if Faem had placed this curse, or if he had someone in his ranks who had done so, then he would know Mulgrad had died. Needless to say, things could get dangerous for Killua if Faem decided to take action. But Killua wasn't afraid for himself.

He was afraid for all those close to him.

His phone buzzed, as though to prove him right. He swiveled toward the sound on the nightstand. There, he saw the card he had found when he had first woken up, two hours earlier, before giving in to the ache and slipping into a restless sleep.

 _Charybdis._

The last piece of last night's puzzle. A new puzzle all by itself.

He frowned.

Too many pieces. There were too many pieces to this puzzle, and he didn't know what to start with.

 _Elias Galivanos is alive, but he needs your help. Find him, and save him._

Right. He had to save that idiot. But as he reached for his phone and his arm quivered with pain, he thought that would have to wait. Actually, _everything_ would have to wait. No revelation was worth dying for, and if he couldn't take his phone without seeing black dots in his sight, then he certainly couldn't deal with crazy Mafia leaders and idiot treasure hunters and dead weapon traffickers and unknown allies with mythological names.

For now, he needed to rest.

He took his phone, and sighed of relief when he lay down and the pain stopped, even for a moment. He saw then that it was a message from Hana.

'Okay I just saw on the news that Mulgrad has been found dead in his office. There was a gas leak and his office caught fire. Are you okay? Please tell me you weren't there. Tell me you're okay.'

'I was there and im not okay,' he found the strength to joke. Though there was no lie in his text; he was in great pain, and it was frankly _annoying_. Inhaling poisonous smokes and nearly choking to death hadn't been part of his plans. Dying hadn't been part of his plans. Nothing had been part of his plans and he was mad that he would have to wait because _some guy_ thought a poisonous-smokes nen ability was a good idea. How delusional.

'Are you fucking serious,' Hana said. Barely a second later, she sent another message. 'I'm coming over.'

He stared at the phone. And quietly laughed.

He could use a breath of fresh air, after all.

* * *

Hana was there fifteen minutes later, with her gigantic purse, her laptop, enough work to busy herself with, and… stuff. Lots, lots of stuff.

"Okay, what happened?" she said as she came in and closed the door. "What the fuck did you do Killua?"

"Not now," he breathed. "I'm gonna collapse."

She let go of her bags and supported him, placing his arm around her shoulders. "Why did you open the door when you knew you couldn't walk?" she scolded as she helped him walk toward the couch, her arm firmly wrapped around his waist. "You could have told me to pick the lock."

"Wow, my friend is picking my lock. Totally not suspicious."

"You forget I'm a professional."

"… I wanted to test my walking," he admitted.

"Whatever." She gently made him sit, then bent forward to meet his eyes. "You look horrible."

"Thanks," he said. "Nice to hear after coming back from the dead."

Her worried eyes coursed all him—only then did he notice his shirt was still bloody. Whoever had washed his face— _Charybdis_ —hadn't changed his clothes, which reassured him a great deal. Being at the mercy of someone he didn't know and who knew where he lived was creepy enough without being naked in front of that someone. The thought alone made him shudder.

"What happened?" she asked again but didn't give him time to answer. She was too busy putting her hand on his forehead, then doing the same with her cheek—or dear God the proximity… he didn't need another reason to faint— then looking in his eyes, then forcing him to open his mouth before he sighed with frustration.

"Stop this," he hissed. "I'm not sick."

"You look like a stranded corpse in the middle of a snowstorm."

"… Thanks."

"Will you tell me what happened now?"

"If you'd just listen to me."

She sat next to him, scooting close so that he didn't need to turn his head. "I'm listening."

He told her everything then—carefully omitting to mention Erik Faem's name; he didn't want to endanger her with this knowledge. How he broke into Mulgrad's mansion, knocked out all the personnel and forced Mulgrad to talk. How Mulgrad was under a nen oath without being aware of it. How he broke the oath and died then, the same way a spy had died before. He didn't tell her about his doubts either—how had Mulgrad managed to sell the information about his client without dying then? "He just started burning on the spot, but there was no fire. The smokes were toxic. I inhaled some and immediately left before it could kill me." He gave a humorless smile. "This is what I got for staying barely a few seconds within the corpse's presence."

"How did you get home?"

His eyes grew dark. "I don't know. Someone found me. I just remember seeing something teal-colored… and then I was waking up in my bed, with a clean face and a message on my nightstand."

"Holy fuck. That sounds like straight out of a thriller or a horror movie."

"Yeah, that definitely wasn't a romcom night." He closed his eyes as she adjusted him on the couch. "What is officially said about his death?"

"That there was a gas leak and that his office caught fire. There was evidence of a leak, though, so I do believe someone put a fire to that office."

"To erase the corpse," he thought aloud. He wondered if Faem could have done it, or if it was Charybdis, the unknown 'friend' who had saved him. The arson burnt the evidence of the oath, but it also burnt evidence of Killua's presence there. "Any other casualty?"

"No. The fire was stopped before it spread elsewhere. The personnel are being taken care of."

He frowned. But before he could start pondering those discoveries, she nudged him.

"Don't work today. You're gonna sleep. I'll take care of everything, okay?" she said.

"Are you for real," he said. "Why did you even come? You're really gonna waste a day watching me sleep?"

"Of course. Unless you want me to go," she pretended to sulk.

He did his best to pat her arm. "No. Stay."

She squeezed his shoulder. "I'll take care of you."

"Thanks. Fifty more hot points for you."

"At this rate, I'll quickly break hotness records," she joked. She got up. She disappeared into his room and came back with a clean tee-shirt, drawstring flannel pants, and a wet towel. "Change into that," she said.

"Make me," he teased through his hazy thoughts, but she only rolled her eyes and started unbuttoning his shirt. "Okay, what about my jeans?"

She removed his shirt. "I'll choke you with them." She wiped the dry blood away from his chest, and he shivered because of the coldness of the towel. She took the clean shirt and handed it to him since he insisted on wearing it himself—no matter how costing that was. She had her share of laughs when he got stuck with both arms up, unable to move because of the dizzying pain; he practically had to beg her to pull his shirt down.

Then, she did the same for the pants. She supported him while he let his jeans slip down. That was the most embarrassing moment in his life. More embarrassing than watching Aunt Mito hang his underwear on the clothesline whenever he visited and she insisted on doing the laundry herself. It wasn't so much about her seeing him in his boxers—he wouldn't mind getting naked in front of her in another context. But there was nothing seductive or sexy about helping a sick guy wear his pajamas.

"I feel like a fucking patient," he mumbled as he drew his flannel pants up, all the while supported by her.

"If all patients look like you then please sign me up to the closest hospital."

"Thanks. That makes me feel better about needing assistance to get dressed."

"Well, tell yourself that seeing an ass as _callipygian_ as yours is worth all the trouble."

He managed a smile.

"You should sleep," she said. "I'll wake you up to eat." She walked him to his room, lay him on his bed—and he even got a tiny kiss on his forehead, as if he needed more proof that he was being babysat.

(Not that he was complaining.)

He fell asleep shortly after that, the noise of her activity in the living room lulling him to sleep.

* * *

A rose gold comb.

A cross-shaped scar.

He stirred in his sleep, chasing after the pictures of bloody jewelry. He distinguished the twist of a smile, a record of insanity displayed on a blemished face.

Through the teeth of the comb, a man lay, with blood staining his hair. His wide eyes stared at nothing, reflecting nothing but the cold embrace of death. He wasn't sure what color the eyes were; actually, he wasn't sure about anything related to the dead figure on the floor, the victim whose empty gaze had appeared in previous dreams, though still alive with fear. The only certain attribute was that cross-shaped scar, on his cheek or his forehead or somewhere on his face.

But the dream melted away, replaced by the Mulgrad's last moments, by his obscene fury.

The bottle of alcohol thrown to the wall, the whiskey seeping through the carpet. The beast-like growl in Mulgrad's throat as he said his last words.

" _He's just a bastard born from a peasant and a whore, and that's all he will ever be, all_ Erik Faem _will ever b—"_

Then, his death. The suffocation stealing Mulgrad's next words. The gasps as he choked to death. The emaciated flesh shrinking to a dry mass of coal, cracking and peeling on his body.

And the pain.

Killua's room appeared then, replacing the somber manor with dim sunlight.

His shallow breathing echoed in his head, as though he was hearing it from inside his body. His sight was blurry, his thoughts hazy, his reality foggy. He was faintly aware of the heat all around him, the burning wave pulsing along his heartbeats, throbbing in his head and his wrist and his neck.

A cold towel broke through the heat, a much needed and much welcome relief. "I've got you," Hana said, then. Sweet, caring, precious Hana. With her deep, silvery voice. With the warmth in her green eyes chasing the darkness away. "Open your mouth."

He didn't know if this was real, but he complied, abandoning himself to her. He felt the steam of warm food on his lips then, and swallowed the spoonful of soup. She repeated the procedure for an undetermined time—or perhaps he was just too feverish to count.

"Close your eyes," she said once he was done.

He closed his eyes.

The busy haze in his mind stilled then, soothed by her calming presence. His breathing slowed, and he felt pulled by sleep once again, lulled by the soft pressure of her fingers in his hair, the softness of her aura.

In that short moment of semi-consciousness, he wasn't sure of anything. He didn't even know if she was still with him, but the calm in himself was a solid proof that she was. He always felt quieter when she was around, as though her presence shooed the doubts away and stilled the hectic speculations that always buzzed in his mind. She was the interlude to all his worries.

Nevertheless, he said the only thing he could think of, the only coherent thought he had managed to form as her green eyes filled his thoughts: "Stay with me." It came out as more of a plead and less of a request, but he was too tired to care.

"I'm right here," she murmured.

He sighed of relief then.

A few minutes later, he was sleeping again.

* * *

 **10:10 P.M.**

Killua woke up to the smell of pumpkin soup and hot chocolate. Needless to say, that changed a lot from the dry blood and the grassy mud in the park he had collapsed in before Charybdis found him.

" _I'm right here."_

He managed to sit up, grimacing through the pain. He faintly remembered an exchange he had had with Hana, but he didn't know if he had hallucinated it or if it had really happened. Nothing was really sure, though; fevers had this way to distort reality that pissed him off beyond relief. The last thing he needed was more concerns over what his deluded, feverish self could have said to her when he wasn't paying attention.

"You're awake?"

He swiveled to meet her gaze. She was standing in the doorframe, hands on her hips. "What time is it?"

"Past 10 P.M."

"I slept the whole day?"

She leaned against the closet. "You didn't. I woke you up twice to eat. Don't you remember?"

"… No. I don't remember waking up."

"Well. You were completely out of it."

He hesitated, awkwardly trudging around the words. "Did I… say anything strange?"

She leveled his gaze. With what Killua could describe as amusement in her eyes. With, surely, a little bit of mischief. "You didn't confess to me, if that's what you mean. It would be quite an awkward way to confess, right?"

He held back a sigh of relief. He wasn't sure why. "That wouldn't be very glamorous, now." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I tend to say deluded things when I'm sick."

"You did talk about catching Zapdos at some point, and you requested a lawyer once or twice to sue the Chorobots company for not ever giving you a golden Chocorobot." She tapped her chin. "Whatever you were seeing, I'd be curious to see it too."

And the sigh he had held struck back. "That's what I was talking about." He stared at her then. "Are you going home?"

"Not if you want me to stay."

A flicker of hope finished to wake him up. "For real? You'd stay the night?"

She gave a warm smile. "Yes. I'm too worried to leave you alone anyway. You really look terrible."

"That's the third time you tell me I look like a dry sock out of the freezer, I get it now."

"Close enough." He glared at her, to which she just grinned. "I just need to go to my apartment, shower and take some stuff. Will you survive in the meantime?"

"I'll try. But come back quick."

"I will."

* * *

 **10:41 P.M.**

When she came back, Killua wasn't in his bed.

It barely took two minutes to find out where he had been: the bathroom. Ten dreadful minutes passed then, during which her brain rewound countless scenarios of Killua slipping in the shower and crashing his skull on the tiles, or Killua collapsing against the mirror and taking a shard in his brain, or, hell, Killua drowning in the toilets or swallowing toothpaste and dying and—wait, toothpaste didn't kill, did it?

That was why, she was ready to kill him when he came out of the bathroom, showered and clean, but definitely exhausted. She knew he had surely done that to spare both of them the embarrassment—she had always asked herself how people showered and used the restroom in movies when one of them was nursing the other—but she was still worried. His reckless shower—two words she had never thought she could use in the same sentence—was an unnecessary strain. He was in pain, but apparently, that didn't stop him.

Then again, that was Killua, and Killua defied logic. The fact that he was even standing after what had happened was beyond her understanding.

"You," she said and pointed him with her finger, "are an idiot."

"Thanks."

She made him lie down on the bed and sat on the other side. "You could have died."

"If I can survive toxic smokes, I think I can survive a shower, Hana."

"What if you had _drowned_?"

"Then the world would have cried one of its most beautiful creations."

"…"

She gave him a glass of water, then fetched a bowl of soup from the kitchen and slowly fed it to him. He was starting to regain some strength, but he was still weak and needed to rest. And as long as she was with him, she refused to let him tire himself.

When he was done, she switched off the lights, took her laptop and sat against a big pillow. She had work to do while he slept.

But he didn't fall asleep, this time. Instead, he watched her as she planned her week, sent some e-mails, typed her reports. When she glanced at him, she saw he was focused.

"Is it interesting?" she finally said, her lips quirking in a fond smile.

"Hmm. You're so organized."

"I need to be, or else I stress too much."

"You already stress a lot."

"A proud heritage from my father," she mused.

He didn't say anything until she finished typing her last report, a quick last-minute report on Aleon's case. When she had wrapped it up and sent it to Allan—who was more than glad to be in contact with her again—she closed her laptop and put it in her bag.

He looked at her then. "You're done?"

"For now, yeah. I'm taking a pause."

"So we can chat?" he asked.

She blinked. "You waited all this time for me to finish working?"

"Yeah? You were busy. I didn't want to bother you."

She pinched his cheek. "You're so cute. I'd have jumped on you just so you give me attention."

"That's because you're an ass," he said.

She and lay down on her side, leaning on her elbow. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Tell me about your Hunter exam."

"All of it? Or just the official exam?"

"All of it."

She tried to gather the memories.

She told him about the treasure hunt with Feri, the rollercoaster-train that rendered most examinees unable to take the exam, the chess game with the Navigators—who were cheating. She loved watching the small twitch of the corner of his lips when she said something funny, or his attentive expression when she talked about suspenseful things. "The process of getting to the exam was hard enough, but the exam was worse."

"Damn. I wish I had ridden that rollercoaster-train. It sounds rad."

"It was pretty fun." She gave a cheeky expression. "There were two grown men aboard who made fun of Feri and me because we were both scrawny at the time—and I was a girl. Within five minutes they were down and they had thrown up their lunch."

"Good. Treats them right."

"Then we got to the exam. I remember I was the number 211, and Feri 212. As soon as we arrived, there was this guy who started talking to us, offering drinks and information about the other contestants. A real leech."

His eyes took a laughing glint. "Dammit, you met Tonpa?" he laughed.

"Yes! Right, you took the exam two years before me. That guy was so annoying. A real glue-pot. He followed us during the whole exam because we were rookies, but he failed the third exam."

"He was already an annoying glue-pot two years earlier; I suppose he got worse with age."

"Well, it was even worse that he actively tried to make us fail," she hissed. "For the first phase, we had a test of stamina. We had to climb a mountain for hours. My arms hurt for days after that, and I swear that's probably around the time I got all my muscles. And twice during the exam, Tonpa, who was obviously right above us, would let go and fall directly on us.

"The first time, we caught him, and nearly fell because of that. The second time, I pushed Feri so Tonpa would fall on someone else. But guess what? That fucker was actually hooked on the mountain! He wasn't falling, he was just pretending to fall, but he was gliding down to knock us out!"

"That is so Tonpa. Please tell me he got impaled on a peak."

"I wish, but no, he kept clinging to us until he failed!"

"… Woah. And what did you have to do for the other phases?" he asked.

She puckered her lips. "Second phase was creepy as fuck. We had to weave through a nest of giant Spider Clowns, find a map, and decrypt it to find our way through an immense forest. I can assure you that at the end of the second phase, there weren't a lot of us left."

"Spider Clowns," he repeated. "That's the most disturbing thing I've ever heard."

She made a non-committal noise. "You should have seen the one I came face to face with. It had _wings_."

He grimaced. "Giant Winged Spider Clowns. What kind of exam did you have? Ours was so boring."

"I think they were testing our survival skills," she mused. "They did have us tend to Orefox wounds for the third phase. We had to take care of wounded animals in a forest, using only the herbs in the forest—they wanted to test our medicinal knowledge and make sure we didn't use a poisonous plant rather a medicinal one. Feri was bitten by an Orefox and we barely made it to the fourth phase before a doctor could see to his wounds."

"Wild. What about the fourth phase?" he urged her to continue.

She fought a smile at the memory. "We had to team up to find our way in a labyrinth. They had unleashed wild animals in the labyrinth and we had to stay in groups of four. We couldn't leave anyone behind because some doors could only be opened by having three different tiles pressed down at the same time, and one person holding the door. We stayed three days in the labyrinth—there were resources dropped at certain places, with extra food rewards when we completed riddles.

"It was hell, though. We didn't get along until the last day. Feri and I had paired up with one guy who became our self-proclaimed leader and couldn't make two steps without triggering a trap, and a girl who clearly wished she could be by herself—and constantly reminded us of that. I really thought we would die countless of times." She showed him the inside of her arm. "A Fox-Bear scratched me at some point. She thought I wanted to hurt her cub. If Feri hadn't managed to calm her down, she would have ripped my arm off."

He brushed the faint scar on her arm, a mere discoloration being its only remains. Her skin prickled where he had touched her. "You went through a wild exam. I hope your fifth phase was a written test or something like that."

She grinned.

"No," he started, his voice full of disbelief. "You can't be serious."

"Yes. After making us pull those Lara Croft stuns, they had us take a written exam. They had awarded us points in each phase and the written exam's grade was 75% of our final grade. We were only ten at the end of the fourth phase, but only five of us passed."

He burst out laughing then—as loud as his lack of energy allowed. "That's the worst fucking thing ever. I can't believe it. Imagine you just arrive there after surviving this hell, and they tell you your title of hunter is determined by a written exam."

She looked at him, a bit dreamily perhaps. "I'm pretty sure most applicants were more terrified by the written test than the Spider Clowns." She shifted her position, to be more comfortable—and closer to him. "What about you? Your exam, I mean."

"Me? Well, I got early to the exam. Number 99, coolest number. I had left Padokia in a blimp that 'accidentally' crashed in the middle of nowhere. I had to find my way through an undocumented place and somehow stumbled upon an underground train. The train took us to Bonizaville, one of the cities with Navigators for the applicants—I think Gon told me he went to Zaban City.

"My Navigator was an old woman—a crime hunter, actually. She had set up an investigation in her mansion, and I had to compete with four other examinees to find the solution. Only one of us could go with her. We had two days to finish." He smirked a little. "I was done in four hours."

"You're so good, it's annoying," she sneered.

"Yeah, I know. The Navigator told me the same when I got too cocky—believe it or not, I used to be even cockier than I am now."

"Ah, you had your twelve-year-old phase too."

"Shut up."

"What happened then?" she requested.

"Hm. Stamina exam first. We ran for hours. It was boring. I met Gon there, though. And Kurapika and Leorio." He told her about all the different phases of his exam, even if he was tiring. She listened, spellbound, imagining a tiny version of himself cooking sushi—how come they didn't know what sushi was?!— or snatching Spider-Eagle eggs, descending the Trick Tower, escaping a great storm with the other applicants, surviving a week of manhunt on the Zebile island… She loved knowing how he had become a hunter, the people he had met and the tests he had completed.

"I still can't believe you didn't know what sushi was; what kind of peasants were you?"

"You slow down there, city girl," he fought. "I was eleven, okay? I fed on candies, not on fish."

"Peasant," she repeated.

"Whatever, brat."

"Peasant."

"…"

"What about the last phase?" she changed the topic. "Tell me you got a written exam. I'd be curious to see how you passed _that_."

He stayed silent. His smile faded away. "I didn't pass the first time," he confessed, his voice so light and almost solemn.

She flinched, regretting her words. She had always assumed he had passed on the first try… How much of an idiot could she be? "You had to retake the exam?" she asked, hoping her voice didn't betray her bewilderment. How could someone like him fail?

"Yeah."

She stared at him, trying to read those intriguing blue eyes of his. Was he nostalgic? Sad? Remorseful? For some reason, none of these fit. "Why did you fail?" she risked.

"During our last phase, we had to fight each another. There was one rule: we couldn't kill our opponent—that automatically disqualified us." He paused, and she knew where he was going. "I got cocky when my opponent showed up. I chose to fight another applicant to have more fun. Turned out that other applicant was my older brother in disguise." He gave a wry smile. "Mad luck, right?"

"Your brother," she repeated. "The asshole with the needles?"

"The one and only."

"But what did he do to you?"

"I don't know. I had the needle in my head and couldn't bring myself to face him. He was using nen and the aura was terrifying me. I didn't know what it was at the time. I chickened and killed Leorio's opponent to disqualify myself. And I went back home."

His words were heavy. She couldn't even imagine the turmoil he had been through. "And then?"

"Gon, Leorio, and Kurapika came for me. They refused to leave me with my family. I retook the exam the following year—just a year before you—and passed." His eyes were unfocused, his eyelids dropping ever so slightly with exhaustion. There was something he wasn't saying, the memory of a burden hovering over his lips. "For a long time, I wondered if I was really made to be a hunter. My brother's voice was always there somewhere in the back of my head, telling me that I was made to be an assassin, that I couldn't have friends, that I belonged with my family. It was so fucking irritating. Even after I retook the exam, I still had lingering doubts."

"But you managed to get rid of it. You're a hunter now. And you do have friends. So many friends who care about you —including me"

He smiled a tired but beautiful smile. "Yeah." He held his mouth open, but no sound would come out. "I've never told anyone about this."

Her breath caught. "Really? Why?"

"It made me feel vulnerable."

She stared at him, her face darkening. "I understand. I know what it's like to fail. The doubt that clouds your judgment afterward."

"Not just that. Talking about my feelings used to feel like ripping a part of me and baring myself. It made me feel freaking naked. I grew up keeping to myself —even Alluka didn't know how I felt, because she had enough problems and I didn't want to let her see her big brother wasn't invincible."

Her eyes twitched at the mention of his sister. She was tempted to ask about her, but she didn't want to interrupt him or make him remember any sad memory. "You didn't grow up in an adequate environment for that. You were taught to suppress your emotions —but you're a deeply emotional person, you can't do that. So I'm proud of you for going this far. And thankful that you opened up to me about this issue."

He glanced at her. Gratitude filled his eyes. "It doesn't feel so bad to be naked with you."

"You can be. You can tell me anything. I'll never judge you. Unless you tell me you kicked a puppy —then I'll judge you _hard_."

He chuckled. "I wouldn't kick you."

"I'm not a puppy. I'm a dinosaur."

"Dinopuppy." He painfully shifted on the bed. "Come closer," he breathed.

"That's the kind of things evil witches say in fairy tales to trap children."

"Yes, absolutely. I plan on draining the life out of you. I need you close for that."

She scooted closer, supporting herself with her forearm. She was so close her body brushed his. "Now what?"

He didn't reply, and she wondered if he had fallen asleep. "Wait. Let me remember my curse. Soon your voice will be mine."

"You're mixing all the fairy tales, Killua. It's either the Little Red Riding Hood or the Little Mermaid, not both."

"Hmm." He opened his eyes. "Probably not the Little Mermaid then. You'd make a lousy mermaid. Your singing could wake the dead."

She poked his cheek. "You're completely defenseless, wounded, unable to move, at my mercy, and you have the gall to make fun of me?"

He brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, the gesture seemingly costing to him, before he let his hand drop. She stared in his eyes, wondered if he was really conscious of everything around him. "You love me too much to hurt me."

"How smug. Who said that?" she fought, though a part of her nudged her that he was right.

"Doesn't need to be said. I feel it."

"How?"

"You came for me."

"That sounds sexual."

"Are you always horny, Hana?"

"Shut up," she said, fingertips grazing his cheek. She felt him relax under her touch and moved closer to him. "You look terrible," she said as she gazed at his pale face, his dark circles, his glassy eyes. It felt painful to see him so hurt.

"Fourth time."

"For real, this time."

"I feel peachy, though," he coughed out. He caught his breath, hovering between sleep and consciousness. She gently patted his chest, rubbing warmth on it like her mother did when she was a child. Her hand lingered. "I could run miles. Grow wings and then fly miles too. And fins and swim miles."

"Sure." She smiled. "You sound drunk, Killua."

"I'm not."

"Do you even get drunk?"

"Only when I want to be."

"I wonder what kind of drunk you are. Funny or emo or disaster? You're always so in control of yourself, of everything around you, it's hard to imagine you drunk."

"I'm not always in control of myself, you know."

"When are you not?"

He put his hand on hers, and she swallowed hard. "I can't control the things you make me feel."

(Oh, the sweet furnace in her chest.)

"Things like what?" she inquired.

"Wild and sappy and fast things. A bit like being drunk in a very colorful world."

"I make you feel sappy?"

"Too much. It's unsettling. You should stop."

"Never."

He rubbed her hand with his thumb, a tender, soothing gesture. A moment passed, a small interlude embracing them in a warm cocoon, during which none of them said anything. She felt his heart beat in sync with her pulse under her hand, guessed the outline of his chest under the fabric of his shirt. And she was so peaceful. Being this close to him, listening to his whispered confessions, stroking his hair as his eyelids dropped… That was the kind of intimacy she craved, the calm evenings threaded in her life like pastel stitches in uncertain black clothes. A little patch of safety in her blurry, shivering life.

"I hope I'll remember this when I feel better," he broke the silence.

Her fingers played with feather-soft strands of his hair. "Remember what?"

"You."

Her heart lurched; her hand stopped caressing his hair for a second before she resumed. She was dying to kiss that smile on his face. "Even if you don't, I'll make you remember."

"Thanks. I'm counting on you." He fell silent then, his breathing slow and even. He had dozed off.

She let go of his hand, and brushed his hair one last time, her chest filled with emotion. She was aware he was only saying this much because he was out of it, feverish and tired. Exhaustion was sometimes a skilled thief of secrets.

Even so, the sweet confessions were a balm on her heart, everything she needed. He too felt this new pull between them. And he trusted her enough to open up to her.

She took the blanket at her feet and covered him. Then, she sat up, ready to keep working until late, since she knew sleep wouldn't come anytime soon. Not while her mind was whirling with everything he had said.

But then, just when she was sure he was asleep, he said one last thing, one thing that set her whole body on fire.

"I feel so good with you, Hana."

She stared at him, wide-eyed, still processing what he was saying. "Why?"

He didn't reply.

She turned back to her laptop, moved, but terribly confused, glancing at his sleeping form as though it would give away the answer to her questions.

Eventually, she gave up on checking if he was awake. His breathing was regular, his features smooth and light. He had left consciousness since long.

And yet, it was only long after that moment that she found what to reply to him.

"And I feel so safe with you, Killua."

* * *

A/N: Hehe. So, yes. I meant what I said; it's all fluffy.

 **What did you think about the chapter?** What was your favorite moment? I'd love to hear your thoughts! **Every review counts, even if it's just a few words** or a guest review. Reviews are an author's fuel. And I'm not only talking about my own story; every author needs feedback.

Anyway, I had a lot of fun writing this chapter—it was months ago but I still remember. I hope you liked the little insight I gave on Hana's exam, and on Killua's pre-exam phase. (I wonder if Tonpa will ever get his license…)

Okay, I'm gonna stop here. Next chapter is called **Rebel** and that's the chapter where I wrote my personal favorite dialogue so far. Or well, my second favorite dialogue. Because my favorite dialogue is the pre-kiss dialogue. But I should stop talking.

Bye and see you soon!


	15. Rebel

**A/N:** Hi guys! How are you? It's been quite a moment since the last chapter right? So finally, here's the fourteenth chapter, freshly edited for you.

Okay, first, I have a lot of good news!

1- The absolutely lovely **Hei17** on tumblr drew **six wonderful drawings** for Poisoned Amaryllis and stunned me over and over with her beautiful art, her kindness and HFKJFHZJEFH I CAN'T CONTAIN MYSELF YOU HAVE TO SEE THEM I'VE BEEN FANGIRLING FOR DAYS AHHHH! Okay. Okay I calm down (I'm gonna try to at least). So again, THANK YOU SO MUCH HEI17! I love you and your art and your talent and all your beautiful gifts! For those who are interested (aka all of you because please you have to see Hei17's talent omg), the links are on my profile (since I can't post links here in chapters without messing up) annnd **there's even a drawing of Hanallua kissing and it's drop-dead gorgeous**. Now go show Hei17 some love because she deserves all the love! Thank you again!

 **2- Once you're done with this chapter, don't stop reading, because right after my bottom notes I've added a little sneak peek of next chapter ;)** It's unedited so it might change a little bit buuut it gives you a rough idea of one of the main scenes I've put inside.

3- I've started writing chapter 20 and so far, I've cried while writing the rough draft of one of the scenes so I don't know if that makes me conceited or extra sensitive but hopefully that gives you an idea of what it's like (I'm enjoying myself tbh).

I think that's all. Special thanks to the sweet anonymous soul who sent me a motivating ask on tumblr to keep writing! Giving feedback to an author is so important and it makes me so happy when you take some time to send me such sweet messages and reviews!

Anyway I don't have any more room for the random news but just know that I have a Gyarados and I'm pretty pleased with myself even if its attacks suck (bc they suck but he's nearly 2000CP so who cares huh?) (also yes I had to get those 400 magikarp candies sigh.)

As always, **thank you all so much** for the follows, the favorites and especially the reviews! I love you guys.

Now I'm gonna stop blabbering. Go on and read. Enjoy ;)

* * *

Chapter 14: **Rebel**

* * *

" _amaryllis tattoo palm meaning"_

" _amaryllis flower clan"_

" _black amaryllis palm tattoo"_

" _poisonous amaryllis palm tattoo"_

" _amaryllis tattoo meaning"_

" _just tell me what the fuck this amaryllis tattoo on his fucking palm means jfc"_

Hana stared at the screen as Google loaded answers to her last question. Funnily enough, it gave more results than "amaryllis tattoo palm meaning" for instance.

And yet, still nothing.

She sighed. She had tried everything. From the most common ways —Google — to the least legal ways —hacking the Hunter website. Problem was, as resourceful as the Hunter website was, it only contained very specific information. If she typed in random words, it wouldn't give her any result. It would only help her if she knew what the tattoo meant, to begin with, or if it could be associated with a _name_.

Which was why "amaryllis palm tattoo" usually didn't give any result. It was way too vague. But if her assumptions were right, then that tattoo could be associated with some tiny remote clan the Whisper could be from. It did look like a traditional attribute.

In her desperation, she had also tried to research Tanalean clans, since amaryllises were the country's symbol, but it hadn't given her any result either. She wasn't sure whether to welcome the news or not.

She tilted her head back until it touched the headboard. Just when she finally felt ready to face the Whisper's case, her only motivation was slipping through her fingers. She had felt so proud of herself when she had launched the search for that amaryllis, like she was finally opening her eyes and getting used to see in the dark to find a way through this hell maze. But it wasn't easy and she was afraid she'd relapse and give up. Sometimes it was more reassuring to not move at all in darkness. There were less risks to get hurt.

She shook her head. No such thoughts. She sat correctly and focused on her laptop. If there wasn't a way to find what the Whisper's tattoo meant on the internet, then there had to be another way.

What she probably needed, for instance, was a resourceful and well-traveled Culture Hunter. Someone who would know better than her where and what to search, and where to get it. Someone who traveled and knew enough cultures and had seen enough customs to narrow the search down to a specific geographical area. Someone who didn't need to use Google to navigate countries and look for small clans and tribes and nomads. Hell, someone who knew more than Google did about remote cultures.

She winced.

What Hana needed was someone like Kai.

Culture Hunters were a subcategory of nomad hunters discovering new cultures, which they considered to be worth all the dangers and the treasures. They were always on the move, always seeking new tribes to learn customs from and share their own views with.

That made them incredibly hard to come by. Stumbling on Kai had been a huge coincidence for Hana—he was the only culture hunter she knew. He had only been in Megamshill because he had been teaming with crime hunters to work on a case—an entire Zamrin family murdered by a ruthless killer who had tried to make it look like a long forgotten Zamrin ritual gone wrong. Kai had proven that the ritual hadn't been done right and that, in any case, most Zamrin families had given up on it—especially the victims, who didn't even come from the only village that still practiced this ancient ritual. The HCDS had called Kai in spite of his young age because he was a skilled culture hunter… but also because he was the only one available. Allan himself had supervised Kai's team—Allan was always assigned to the most gruesome and difficult cases.

She took a deep breath, her thoughts wandering back to the stories Kai had told her, about all the people he had met. And there were a lot—he was a passionate culture hunter. Back when they were still friends, before the whole romance drama, she could have listened to him ramble for hours about the Kuruta clan in the Lukuso Mountains and their huts designed specifically to keep and filter rainwater better than any modern filter, or the Alefka tribes rotating in Tona Riva to seek the one fruit they harvested for their food and medicine, or the maps tattooed on Om'yelf mapmaker tribesmen for their travels around the Titans Mountains. His vivid memory and his incredible geographical skills allowed him to remember all his travels and retell them as though he had brought her with him—she might have fallen for him on a night when he had made her waltz through the Zamri tribe's yearly fair.

Moreover, she knew very well that he would be way too eager to help her, no matter what stood between them. Kai was one of those sickeningly kind people who didn't hate anyone, didn't even resent those who had hurt him —and probably, deep down, believed that he deserved it. He _could_ have resented her, and rightfully so, because she also had her share of harm done in that relationship, of things she had done and said and regretted. But he didn't, and he never had.

That made it impossible to hate him, even after everything that had happened and all the tears she had cried, even after cutting him off. Because even then, he had made her his priority, had traveled as far away as he could from her to make their separation easier for her to bear, had _cut himself off from her life_. He had loved her, but he had realized that since he couldn't give her stability and safety, he had to let her go. He was _that_ selfless and self-sacrificing.

That was why she was sure that if he knew she needed help, for the Whisper on top of that, he _would_ help. After all the doubt he had seeded in her mind, when they were together, his loyalty and his immense kindness were two things she had never, ever doubted. As long as there was no long-term commitment involved, Kai was highly dependable and incredibly generous, always ready to help.

Nonetheless, the thought of contacting him, of talking to him, _of asking him for help_ … was a lot to take for her pride. Kai wouldn't judge her or mock her, but she was still reluctant to contact him, especially to _ask_ for something from him and after months of silence.

She glanced at Killua, wondering if she could ask him when he was awake about his opinion. Thomas would most likely tell her it was a bad idea —and he wouldn't be wrong. But she didn't know anyone else she could ask—unless Killua knew a good culture hunter, but even then, she wouldn't want to talk about her personal worries to a complete stranger. At least, Kai already knew about her issue with the Whisper. Besides, culture hunters were hard to come by.

She closed her terminal and the tabs she had been working on. It was useless to dwell on this amaryllis tattoo when she didn't have the proper resources. She would ask Killua later, but for the moment, she couldn't just stare idly at her screen and hope a secret page would pop up to give her all her answers.

She still had time. She had to take her mind off this issue. Especially now that she had had this brilliant idea to contact her ex.

A moment later, she opened back Vincent's—Gayan's—letter. And read it, for the nth time. Piecing it apart in a vain hope to understand it.

 _Penelope,_

 _I don't have much time, and when you find this, I might as well be dead and buried someplace with all the others who stood in their way. But this is all I managed to gather. I'm entrusting all these items to you; surely you will know what to do._

She hadn't found anything about a person named Penelope—was there _anything_ easy to find in all her new cases? — but if she was alive, then she had failed to retrieve Gayan's items. Since there wasn't any date on the paper, Hana had assumed Gayan had buried it shortly before disappearing—five to six months ago. That was plenty of time to find the package—assuming Penelope, whoever she was, knew about Gayan's ability. Which wasn't too farfetched to imagine; after all, in his letter, Gayan trusted Penelope to find the package _and_ understand it.

That could mean two things. Either Penelope had died, and there was no one left to explain what this all meant, or, whoever was after Gayan had found Penelope before she could take action. If the enemy was as Gayan had described them, then that could be a plausible path:

 _But please, I beg you… be careful. They're stronger than we are, and my escape was a mere result of luck—my master wasn't so lucky. They have endless resources, and spies everywhere; most likely even within the Police or the HCDS. All I'm sure of is that they're dangerous, powerful, and determined._

She narrowed her eyes, rereading that paragraph. There were plenty powerful families who had a reach in the Police, but she had never heard about corruption within the HCDS of all places. It wasn't so much that she couldn't believe it—as long as there were humans, there could be some kind of corruption—but she just couldn't imagine what family could be powerful enough for that.

There was the Priman family, who had the money for that. But if Eugene Priman hadn't been interested in gloomy matters, his wife Arashi was even less so. From what Killua had said, all she was interested in was finding out what had happened to her husband—an understandable motivation.

Apart from the Priman family… There was the Faem family. Erik Faem, with his cement industry, had quite an influence in the city—and a very positive image. When a catastrophe happened, he was always the first to donate funds to help the victims and the communities. She wasn't sure why Faem would be after a butler of some sort, but he did have the power to sneak into the HCDS and corrupt some high profile agents. If she remembered well, he was also a big contributor.

Then, the Montsiege family, with Eleanora Montsiege leading it. A strong and whimsical woman who used her privileged position in the Mafia to save people—especially children and women since they were the most targeted categories— from human trafficking and neo-slavery. A sort of Robin Hood in a dark thriller saving people before they were thrown in filthy brothels or in a rich pedophile's bed. Eleanora used her reach in the Mafia to trade information, and kept tabs on every wealthy Mafia family, especially those renowned for their sex predators. It was safe to assume she had a broad reach in the Police, or even in the Justice. There were quite a few cases where a certain rapist had been given a light sentence because of 'lack of proof', only to be jailed for twenty years a few days later, after a burst of activity from the Montsiege family. She was also a rival of Eugene Priman, as an art collector herself.

Since the Mulgrad head was down, the Aobajou and the Karasu families were too busy hating each other, and the other families were mostly facing major financial issues, these were easily some of the most influent families in Megamshill, or at least the ones Hana had heard about at the HCDS headquarters.

However, nothing said why they would be after Gayan, and how they would reach the HCDS. No matter how powerful they were. And who knew if the enemy wasn't a less influent family who simply worked in the shadows? At this point, it was hard to jump to conclusions.

Hana scrolled to keep reading the letter, her mind bustling with thoughts.

 _The comb is what they're after. I don't know why, and I don't know who this Leanaj is, or why it's so important for them. Hell, I don't even know who is commanding and giving them orders. But I've enclosed all the information I could find about them._

The comb. For some reason, whoever had attacked Gayan wanted the comb. It had to be important, even though there was not a single hint as to why it was. Neither of the three alleged families had ever shown interest in jewels either.

Nothing made sense anymore.

She sighed, staring at the ceiling—who knew Killua was a fluorescent star ceiling-stickers kind of guy? If only she could have a start, a spark to start the motor and move the machine. That was all she needed.

Killua stirred next to her, wincing in his sleep. She put her laptop on the bed, just long enough to position him more comfortably on the bed. Her gaze lingered on his closed eyelids for a moment before she plunged back in her work. He had this way of stilling the noise in her mind, whenever she looked at him or whenever he touched her. He worked on her restlessness like a spell.

After one last glance at his sleeping form, she took Gayan's diary and resumed working.

She needed this spark.

* * *

 **Wednesday, April 29th**

 **7:12 A.M.**

When he woke up the next day, the pain was almost gone.

He sat on the bed with a grimace as his back cracked, and rested his forearms on his thighs. Hana wasn't in the bed, and judging from the smell, she was preparing the breakfast.

He cautiously stood up, testing his muscles. He took a few steps and squatted, bent forward, backward, extended his arms and stretched, until he was sure all his limbs worked correctly.

It was only when he tried to use Ten that he realized he hadn't completely healed. His aura flowed perfectly, but using his nen was unusually straining.

 _How practical_ , he thought. Especially if he needed to find Elias. He wouldn't be able to use Godspeed for a few days.

But at least he was alive. He couldn't exactly complain—he did recover in barely a day; he couldn't have everything. He predicted Godspeed would be usable in three days, and his nen would have entirely recovered in a week or so. That was more than he could hope for—Mulgrad hadn't been so lucky.

The night with Mulgrad came back in his mind as he stared at his nightstand. Charybdis' letter lay there, a perfect mystery that left him with an odd ally. An ally whose motivation he didn't know, whose loyalty he couldn't gauge, whose mere existence was a little creepy. And yet, Charybdis had saved him. Which meant that for the moment, Charybdis didn't want him dead.

That was one more person to seek—better strike than be struck— on top of saving Elias and…

And Erik Faem.

The new suspect in this mad story.

Killua was aware he would need to be prudent, especially if Faem was half as powerful as he appeared to be. The first step was to research who he was and why he would have wanted to kill Priman. The second step, to find what item Faem wanted so bad. And finally, to prove he was Eugene's abductor—and killer.

The truth was, the last step would be the hardest. Not because there wasn't enough proof, but because Faem was rich, and above the law.

… Not that it was Killua's problem. He had been hired to find what happened to Eugene Priman, nothing more. And he was one step closer to wrap up his case. He knew he was still far from being done, but he had a major hint. He couldn't wait to finally investigate and quench his curiosity—main problem with crime hunting: his curiosity got him too invested.

But not now. First, he needed a breakfast.

And he needed to see her.

He found her in the kitchen. When he saw her, he leaned his shoulder against the wall and crossed his arms, a smile playing on his lips.

"Now that's a sight to wake up to," he said, taking in her tall form in revealing pajamas and a messy bun while she poured pancake mixture in a pan.

"I know; I have a wondrous ass."

"I was talking about the pancakes," he lied, his eyes wandering up her long legs, her round butt, the curve of her hips. His gaze lingered on her slim waist, wishing his hands could rest there, and her delicate neck, wishing his _lips_ could rest there. He tore his gaze away. It gave him wild ideas. Nothing he could allow himself to try.

Only then he noticed the plate of pancakes on the counter.

"You're such an asshole. You were a lot cuter when you were sick."

He chuckled and walked in, hovering by the table to look at the breakfast she had conjured out of his nearly empty fridge. She did have grandma skills.

As he rose his eyes to her, he moved closer but resisted the urge to pull her into an embrace and snake his arms around her waist. Again. He had barely been standing in her presence for two minutes that his body was already craving her.

 _Ugh._

He leaned against the counter and watched her work, crossing his arms to keep them from hugging her. Perhaps they'd feel less empty that way.

"Did you sleep well?" She asked, glancing at him.

"Very. You should sleep with me more often."

"You do feel better," she noted. "Since you're back with your snark."

He smiled. "Thanks a lot. I wouldn't have recovered this well without your help."

She flashed a smile, but looked away. "You recovered quickly because of your superhuman abilities. Not because of me. I only made your recovery more pleasant with my awesome company."

"That too. But I barely had the force to move yesterday; if I hadn't eaten I wouldn't have been able to move today either. I'm still human. You spared me unnecessary strain."

"Well, you're welcome then."

He stared at her. At her eyes focused on the pan. He wondered what she was thinking about.

"I'm glad you feel better," she suddenly said. "It was hard to see you in pain. I prefer you being smug and obnoxious than being hurt."

He blinked. "I wasn't in _that_ much pain. It's okay. I've seen worse."

She pursed her lips. He cursed himself then, because he knew where her thoughts had diverged. She remained silent for a long time, but words seemed to war in her eyes. The atmosphere became tense with whatever was simmering in her head.

She finally opened her mouth. "I've been wondering for a long time, but I never found the courage to ask you."

He studied her expression, the fake calm hiding all her indignation. He remained impassive, but a part of him was anxious. "I've already told you; you can ask me anything. If I don't want to answer, I won't. Simple."

"Really?"

"I'm not that complicated."

She flipped the pancake, her gaze stuck on it for a few seconds. "What did they do to you?"

He didn't need to ask who _they_ were. "You mean my training?"

"Training, abuse, all the same."

"I don't think it's a good idea to talk about that, Hana. Not for me, because I don't care, but for you, because you clearly do more than necessary." She got upset every time his family was mentioned. He could see why, from her perspective, but he had grown so indifferent to it he couldn't share her vehemence.

"But I want to know."

"Nope. Another time. I don't plan on ruining your day."

"They pushed you to your limits," she insisted. "Pain resistance, poison, what else? Your fast recovery is due to that. Your body has almost no scar, as though it was trained to recover faster than the average body. You think I didn't notice?"

"Why are you so eager to ruin your own day?"

"It's been bugging me for a while. I want to know. I mean, if it's okay for you to talk about it."

"I'm not traumatized. I don't mind talking about it. But I'm not sure it's a good idea. I don't want you to get upset."

"I want to know."

He sighed in surrender. "Alright, don't say I didn't warn you." His face grew serious as he watched her reaction. "I was trained to resist electricity, poison, blows, burns. Torture in general. My senses were pushed to the limits to smell danger, blood, or any signal to read the prey or run away. I can spend a week without sleeping and survive in a hostile environment. I can recover thrice as fast as an ordinary human. So, there you go." He paused, arched an eyebrow at the barely masked horror on her face. "Don't make that face. You asked for it. Besides, if anything, I'm thankful for that. It makes me stronger."

"But how can you say that!" She snapped. "They physically abused you for the sake of their business. That's not okay."

"I'm seeing the bright side. That physical abuse is what made me survive so long as a hunter; in the exam, the Celestial Tower, Greed Island, the Chimera Ants War. I would have died countless times without them."

"I don't get it. You don't feel like it was unfair? Like they have wronged you?"

"Not really. I've grown past that. I told you, I'm not traumatized, Hana. That's how I was raised. I was brought up to accept brutality as an intrinsic part of my life, and I had no clue that wasn't how children were raised during the first years of my life. What made me realize it was twisted was the outer world. When I grew curious and explored and watched and listened, and basically educated myself without intending to. That's when I started realizing what my family was doing wasn't normal. I _know_ what they did to me was completely twisted, and I'd rather die a thousand times than do that to _my_ children. But I never regretted the training I got, and I never will."

"You don't resent them?"

"No. I don't resent people, let alone them. I just don't care. I'm thankful for those skills I have. I wouldn't be that strong without them. Even that needle—"

"Emotional abuse?" she cut in.

"— Emotional abuse, alright. Even _that_ made me stronger."

"It completely fucked you up for a long time."

"It did. It fucked me up and left me helpless and warring with myself. It made me miserable, doubtful, fearful. It made me forget a person I loved more than I loved myself, _my own sister_. It manipulated me, it wanted to break me. I've been so emotionally abused I couldn't recognize it as abuse when I was a child. Even now, I've been so desensitized to the pain I felt that today I still have a warped perception of my own pain. I _know_ it's fucked up." He stopped, watching her wide eyes. He didn't like the pained expression on her face. First because he didn't like seeing her pained, and second because he didn't like being pitied. "But I don't regret it, and I don't need pity. I came out of it stronger and I managed to break free. I found who my real family was, I've met people I couldn't live without." His features softened. "I'm fine now, Hana."

She twitched. "But you weren't before."

"Before is before. I'm talking about now. And now, I'm the happiest I've ever been. No matter what they've done to me, they didn't win. They didn't turn me into the monster they wanted."

She turned away, switching off the cooktop. He scooted closer to her, after she finished putting the last pancake into the plate with the others.

"Hana," he called then, and she turned toward him. There was only a foot between them. "I know why you're upset. I understand. All I'm saying is, there's nothing to regret. What's done is done, and no amount of lament or resentment can change that. Besides, without that training, I wouldn't be who I am and where I am today. Take it this way: if I hadn't been born a Zoaldyeck, and if I hadn't had parents who wanted to decide everything for me, I wouldn't have wanted to take the Hunter exam. I wouldn't have met Gon, Leorio, Kurapika. I wouldn't have followed Gon on his way to find his father. We wouldn't have travelled this mad journey from York Shin to NGL together. I wouldn't have become a crime hunter." He leaned in. "I wouldn't have met you."

"We met on a basketball court, not the Chimera Ants war zone. We had the most ordinary meeting and I love it for that."

"Still. You perhaps wouldn't have noticed me as you did."

"That's not true. I would notice you no matter what. I didn't feel drawn to you because you were a hunter—though I admit it did give us something cool in common. But I felt drawn to you because of who you are as a person. Because of what you had in you and polished with the years, that your family never managed to take from you.

"I like you because of your intelligence, your kindness, your humor, your sensitivity, your curiosity, your love for the world and for people and for _life_. Your strong presence and your independence. Not because you're a superhuman who can withstand poison and electricity. And that's not something your training gave you. You were born with those qualities, and I would bet my hand that's why your father wanted you as his heir. He knew you were different.

"Your brothers saw the world too. But they didn't have your inherent curiosity and your inner strength that made you resist instead of… bend and snap and fold. Abuse is something that creates a vicious circle that's hard to break, and yet _you did_ break it, because you were born with the kindness and the love that made you strong enough for that." She put a hand on his chest, right where his heart was racing beyond control, right where he thought it would burst with emotions. "You're a rebel. You can't accept being caged. You live to the fullest, for yourself. You have the kind of individuality that makes you stand out, because you shine all by yourself. _That's_ what makes you strong, what makes people notice you as soon as you enter a room, what makes _me_ like you. The training you got is only something convenient that gave you cool skills, but it didn't make you _you_."

He took a deep breath, too shocked to reply anything, too dumbfounded to do anything but put his hand on top of hers and press it against his chest, and drown his eyes in hers. In the depth of her passion, her admiration, her _wonder_ that percolated through her anger.

To think he was the reason for that wonder.

He tightened his grip on her hand, watching the heat leave her eyes as she calmed down. He wanted to say something, anything to convey just how deeply touched he was. But he was too overwhelmed to form any sentence.

 _You're a rebel._

 _You can't accept being caged._

"Thank you," he finally breathed, searching her eyes, as though his own could tell her what he couldn't say. Then, he smiled, and hoped his gratitude shone through that smile, because he was spilling with it. "Thank you, Hana."

* * *

All her anger dissolved.

Just like that.

He had smiled, the most beautiful smile he had ever offered, and she was calm again. Completely at loss, with a ridiculous mess of bubbles fusing and colliding in her whole body. That smile was for her, her alone.

She exhaled and moved away, reluctantly letting go of his hand. She took the plate of pancakes and put it on the table in the dining room. She sat in front of him, but avoided his eyes as they ate in silence.

She didn't dare utter a word. Her outburst of affection was just as good as a confession. She couldn't meet his eyes.

But she knew he was watching her. She could feel his gaze on her, as though her body registered his scrutiny by instinct.

"You're as pink as your shirt."

There he was. She took a deep breath, opened irked eyes to show she wasn't in the mood, but faltered when she saw his smile. That damn playful, insufferable, frustrating, _kissable_ smile. He was leaning on his elbow, an adorable streak to the whole sight in front of her.

 _Damn him._

She gulped. "I'm aware."

"I had no idea you thought that highly of me."

"I'm tempted to change my mind," she mumbled, though when he laughed, she knew that was never happening.

"Could you?"

No, she couldn't. "Killua, eat your pancakes."

"Yes, mom."

Her lips quirked up. She couldn't help it. His eyes brightened then, but he didn't say anything. He simply ate quietly, glowing with that crooked smile, that happy expression that made him look so endearing.

"I'm really moved," he finally said after gulping down four pancakes—she was barely finishing the second and she was already full.

"Why?"

"Because what you said was really nice."

Nice. In Killua's language, that usually meant 'amazing'. So really nice, then…

She took a deep breath. Her outburst of emotions didn't sit well with her. "I'm sorry though. I got carried away, and kinda just… got too passionate. I know it's not agreeable to deal with someone who overreacts so easily." There, she had said it. "But I meant everything I said about you. I admire you a lot. I love that rebellious side of yours."

He fell silent. For a moment, he was serious. "And I love that passionate side of yours. Why do you talk about it like it's something you have to apologize for?"

She flushed, shifting uncomfortably. "It was too much."

"There's no such thing as 'too much' when it comes to caring, as long as it's healthy. I don't know why you've got this idea that you're too much to handle. You just feel things a lot, in the rawest and realest way. You're intense and vibrant. How is that _too much_?"

The words whirled in her mind. Raw, real, intense, vibrant… That was almost poetic. God, it was overwhelming. She rose shy eyes toward him. "I get insecure about it, sometimes," she admitted.

"But why? I love that intensity."

"Not everyone loves that. I guess it can be exhausting."

He shrugged. "Not everyone loves me either—shocking, right?"

She laughed wholeheartedly. "Shocking."

"And yet it's sadly true. Not everyone is able to appreciate the wonder that I am. Some people thought I was too sarcastic, or not demonstrative enough, or too smart, or too beautiful—"

"Too smart and beautiful?" she repeated, fighting a grin.

"… Yeah. It's legit."

"What a tragedy."

"I know right? You could be the best person in the world and there would still be some fucker who will find something to judge you on," he said. He nodded then. "Words of wisdom from Killua the Philosopher."

"Damn, he gives some really neat advice."

He placed his hand on his heart in that smug way of his. "I know."

She beamed at him. He devoured three more pancakes—just _how_ did he do it? —before they started cleaning around.

"I'll take a shower," he said when they were done. But then, he smirked, and he didn't need to speak for her to see his silent invitation.

"No," she just said, and chuckled when he pouted. "By the way, don't be surprised if you see a toothbrush near your bathroom sink. I took the liberty of bringing mine yesterday."

"Okay, thanks for the warning. I'd have been scared shitless otherwise."

She rolled her eyes. "Could you remind me to take it before I leave?"

"You can leave it here. You can leave some stuff here if you want, actually. It's more convenient."

She opened her mouth, ready to protest, but she liked his offer. A lot. It implied that she would be spending the night with him quite often. Which meant more breakfasts with him and more snuggling in bed. More _time_ with him.

"At this rate, I'll end up living with you," she thought aloud.

"I don't mind."

She ignored the warmth in her stomach. "Okay then."

He casually left then, and she was alone with a cloudy, slightly nebulous head.

It was obvious that they had grown a lot closer in the past weeks. But just how close could they get before it wasn't friendship anymore but something different? Because one thing was sure: there was _something_ happening between them that was nowhere near platonic.

At first, she had thought it was just her. She had admitted to herself that she had feelings for him—feelings that were dangerously growing stronger— and ever since, there had been no doubt about that. It was clear to her, and every day she was reminded that she liked him, perhaps even a little more every time he laughed. The surety of her feelings was reassuring to her.

But she had never considered that he might feel the same way. And that uncertainty was starting to raise questions she hadn't asked herself in a long time— _"Does he like me?" "Was that an invitation?" "Was he flirting with me?" "Is he serious or is he joking?" "Is he interested or am I imagining things?"_ and other pleasant doubts. Usually, she could tell when a guy was interested. She could catch every subtle and not-so-subtle invitation, any undertone and any double entendre. But Killua was a whole different matter, because she cared about him, about their friendship, about making things right. It wasn't so much that he was unreadable—he had given her a lot of signs that could easily be regarded as seduction—but she didn't want to get her hopes high. He was too important for her to take any risk, and assuming anything was a great risk.

The truth was, she wasn't even sure she was ready to date him, no matter how much she wanted to be with him or how much she wanted _him_. She could barely take care of herself without drowning whenever a hurdle popped in her life, how could she take care of another person? Of a _relationship_? A real one? She felt like too much of a fuckup to get things right.

The sound of water pouring on shower tiles pulled her from her reverie. She rewound that last thought, and frowned at it. That was some new level of self-deprecation. If Killua knew that she had thought of herself that way, he would scold her. If he heard her dragging herself down and making herself worry because of a hypothetical situation, he would scold her too.

She smiled at the thought.

She really should embrace the Killua way of thinking.

* * *

 **8:02 A.M.**

Hana took the diary and opened it on the last bookmarked entry. Killua was still taking his shower so she had time to kill; she might as well start working.

The last important entry she had read related Ziam Torana's death, and the massacre of all his family. After reading a few more entries, she had found that Gayan had written quite a bit about Ziam's death, but never about his life. The funeral, the memorials, the donations to Ziam's Child Cancer Association, the prayers and the tears. Ziam had been a close friend to Priman.

None of that told her who Ziam Torana was, though.

She opened a new tab and googled Ziam Torana's name.

There were hundreds of results.

A picture first showed up, of a smiling man of tall stature, with short, wavy brown hair, a close-trimmed beard, and the green eyes of the Torana. That and the robustness of his frame were the only hint that he could come from the Tanalean meadows; his skin had the olive tone of the Tanaleans from the littoral like her mother, and his features sharp like those from the North.

The most recent articles were about his death—memorials published each year in the necrology section of the Megamshill Daily website, or articles published years ago after his death— but there were quite a few about his numerous achievements. A good merchant, a good CEO, a good husband, a good father. A good everything. Came to Megamshill with his parents who fled the Kumotori crisis in Tanalea and grew up in a modest house. Built his own textile industry and got married to Sana Omali when he was barely twenty-eight. His company flourished, his life was perfect, he paid his father's debts and offered his mother the house of her dreams—a perfect son too. A completely issue-less, quiet, ethical and generous man.

And then, one day, it was all gone. His mansion, his family, his life.

A fishy arson, to change from the usual.

She flipped a few pages of the diary, skimming through the content without really reading it. Gayan talked in extensive details about the toll his death took on the community, and on the family he was working for.

Suddenly, her eyes bumped on a name, on an entry dated four years ago, barely a month after the entry about Ziam Torana's death.

 _Erik Faem._

 **October 2** **nd**

 _Erik Faem came to visit today with his wife Olivia. He looked terribly affected by Ziam Torana's death. He who always looks so radiant and sunny was a little more than a shadow. He stayed with Master and Madam for a few hours before leaving._

 _It occurred to me that I had never seen Erik Faem dressed in all black before this tragedy._

 _It also occurred to me that he's been in mourning for the longest time among Ziam Torana's relatives._

The rest of the entry didn't give any relevant information.

She quickly googled Erik Faem with Ziam Torana. She had no idea that Faem had lost a dear friend of his, years ago, and that he had been in contact with Gayan, although indirectly.

The first results loaded on the page. She narrowed her eyes as she scrolled down. Faem had written a eulogy for Ziam Torana. He had also given a speech about him, to honor his achievements. There were quite a few pictures of him, dressed all in black, with a drawn face that looked so different from his usual sunny appearance, standing near the coffin at the cemetery.

She closed the picture. It made her uncomfortable. She picked another picture then, of Ziam and Faem laughing together, that a journalist had taken during the Child Cancer Association inauguration. The look they were exchanging was nothing short of affection.

The sound of the shower stopped. She kept browsing for pictures, saving them in a new folder. She wasn't sure when or if they would be useful, but she'd better be prepared.

Killua came out of the bathroom at this moment. He unceremoniously crashed on the couch next to her, smelling of his white musk perfume and some fresh shower gel she couldn't put her finger on. "What are you working on?" he asked, as radiant as always.

She feigned to give him a haughty look, then huffed. "Things."

"Hmm. What things?"

" _Confidential_ things," she joked.

"Hmm." She glanced at him. He was reading the diary. _That flippant bastard_. "Is that the disappearance you told me about?"

"Yup."

"Your guy really stuck his grocery lists in his diary?"

"His whole life as a butler is in that diary. But he never mentioned his master's name."

Killua remained silent. He flipped a page from time to time, but he wasn't saying anything. _That's odd_ , she thought. Gayan's diary had never been all that enthralling to her, so why was Killua so engrossed in it?

She glanced at him. And saw the look of pure and utter shock on his face.

"Killua?" she quickly asked, putting her laptop away. A thousand worries jumbled in her brain. What could shock him of all people?

He turned wide eyes toward her. "Where did you find this?"

"This? It was with the package this guy had buried."

"Who? Who's he?" he urged her to give the _name_ , and only then she caught the eagerness in his tone.

She hesitated a bit, as though telling him would unleash a new twist in her life, a twist that would change everything. "Gayan—but I don't know his last name. He mentioned it nowhere."

His eyes flew back to the diary. He closed it and jumped to his feet. "Find me a picture," he threw before he disappeared in his room.

Confusion morphed to excitation when she finally realized: he had seen something. He had recognized something in that diary. And that something was the spark she needed to get the motor going.

She rushed to her bag and fished for the folder with Gayan's information. There, she found the identity card he had used to conceal himself as Vincent Melchior. His double life.

Killua came back at this moment, taking long strides toward her. He was carrying a folder. He took a document and sat next to her. Together, they compared what they had.

The same person. The photo on his document and on the identity card were the same person.

Her shock only mirrored his own. She took in the name written on his document, and everything made sense.

Gayan Juma.

Vincent Melchior was Gayan Juma. And he was working for the Priman family.

"I don't understand," she breathed. "It says he worked at the Priman mansion, but I checked. No one named Gayan worked as a butler anywhere."

"His name was removed from the Hunter Website, under Arashi's request. She knew that Anonymous had attacked her husband and Gayan, so in case he was still alive, she wanted to avoid any information leak."

There. The reason she hadn't found anything about him. "You do realize what this means," she said, searching his eyes. "We're literally working on the same case."

He stared at her. In the eye. With so much intensity, so much impatience. With a curiosity and an eagerness that perfectly matched hers. "You do bring me good luck."

* * *

 **A/N :**

Muahaha. That moment when you realize the answer was literally here the whole time hmm. A lot of you were curious to see how Hana's and Killua's cases were linked, so I hope you liked the answer! Tell yourself this is only the beginning. Or like, the opening of a brand new arc.

 **Anyway, what did you think about the chapter?** Did you like it? What was your favorite moment? Please review! I love reading your reviews and knowing what you thought about the chapter! It doesn't matter how long it is, any author would rather have a short "I liked it!" than nothing, trust me on this ;)

I've already blabbered a lot so I'm gonna shut up now. Next chapter is called **L'appel du vide** and beloooooow is a little (unedited) sneak peek of it, to give you a little preview. Hope you like it )

Until then, bye! See you in two weeks!

* * *

 _His hand sneaked around her waist, his palm resting on her back. The contact was comforting, yet she felt as though he was testing the ground, testing their boundaries. She scooted closer, ignoring her doubts, hoping they would shush down, the space of an embrace. "That's good to know," he simply said, but his voice was breathy and his pupils dilated._

" _Why good?"_

" _It gives me ideas."_

" _Tell me," she breathed. "Share those ideas. What would you do to me?"_

" _Make you so dumb you'd forget your own name," he said, fingertips moving in a circular motion on her back. She couldn't look away. "Until you only know mine."_

 _The words caressed her lips and set her on fire. It occurred to her, then, that desire was a capricious, tempestuous and loud thing, because in that moment it was all she knew. A fierce want kindled by his words and fueled by his touch, sizzling with passion. And it was so tantalizing. All she could think of was how much she wanted to give herself up to him, to let him do whatever he wanted to her._

 _She risked a caress of his lower lip with her thumb. She could ignore all her concerns. She could forget it all for a minute, an hour, a night. First, she would kiss him. Taste his lips and then his body. Find what made him sigh and what made him moan and what made him cry out in a plea for_ more _. Temptation was such a convincing muse._

 ** _(excerpt from Chapter 15,_ L'appel du vide _)_**


	16. L'Appel du Vide

**A/N:** Hey guys! How have you been? I missed you!

First of all, **THANK YOU FOR 100 REVIEWS**! I'm so happy that PA got there and it's all thanks to you, the sweet souls who take time to leave reviews! So to all of you reading this, know that you're amazing and a precious part of this story and I love you all! I hope you stay with me as I keep writing.

Okay, some news:

1\. The lovely _Hei17_ drew more **absolutely amazing** drawings of Hana, check them out! The links are on my profile, you won't regret it. For those interested, I wrote a tiny snippet on her drawing of Hana waiting for Killua, for their date, feel free to read it too and make sure to give a lot of love to Hei17! So again and again, **thank you so much Hei17**! I can never express the gratitude I feel! ;A;

2\. I'm being slow with chapter 20 but the main scene is written and it's huge so I'd say the chapter is at least half done. Don't get me wrong, I've been working on the story, but lately I've been more focused with Killua's past (ohoho) (you really thought I'd leave him alone didn't you?) and on the plot. Alsoooooooo… I've worked a lot on Hanallua's first time together lol. I can't tell you much except that the scene is at least 6k long, it's a lot different from its first version and I somehow managed to make them joke and laugh throughout the thing so it's both hotter and cuter in a way (and a littleeee bit more explicit than the first version… lol…)

3\. I've been working on chapter 22 at the same time and it's at least 40% done lol. I think you'll like this chapter… :D

Okay so that's a lot of news. On the random side I got two Pikachus in 2km eggs so I'm happy… aherm.

As always, **thank you all so much for your support** , for the follows and favorites and encouraging messages, and especially for your sweet reviews! You are amazing.

Anyway, go ahead and read! I hope you like this chapter!

* * *

Chapter 15: **L'appel du vide**

* * *

 **Appel du vide** ( _ˈæpəl du vid_ ): _noun_. _French._ **1.** The unexplainable, instinctive call of the void one has when standing at the edge of a high place. _Every time I stand on a high cliff, I get this strange appel du vide that tells me to jump._

* * *

 **9:18 A.M.**

"First things first, Vincent Melchior and Gayan Juma are the same people," she said, flipping the letter signed by Gayan she had printed and Vincent's "official" papers to compare once more the photographs. He looked older and tired in Vincent's papers, but she recognized the same strong nose, droopy eyes and kind expression.

They were working in her working room, as they had been for the past hours, gathering all the evidence they had and discussing the twists in their cases.

Killua took the papers she had flipped over, examined them, and stuck them on the whiteboard.

He had taken a liking to using her whiteboard with her fancy markers and her fruit-shaped magnets. He had insisted it was essential to the investigation that they display the proof on the board, and she partly agreed because it would help to have the evidence on sight. It was a handy visual tool, to take an inventory of the evidence, keep an overview of the investigation and draw links between the different elements.

In that sense, Killua was right: the whiteboard was a useful tool.

… But she wasn't so sure about how useful pineapples magnets were. It made the whiteboard look a little bit too colorful for a criminal investigation.

"You've never used a board before, have you?" she said, looking for the copies of Gayan's diary in the pile of papers she had printed.

"Nope."

"Where did you keep the evidence then?"

"My head. Worked fine before."

"Before what?"

"Before strawberry-shaped magnets." He placed a magnet—a berry— on the copy she was handing him, of the entry about Ziam Torana's death. "It's badass. Like a real detective in the movies."

She cracked a smile. "Says the guy who conducts all his investigations in his head alone and still owns all the movie detectives."

He glanced at her, smirking a little. "At your service." He stepped back to take a broad look at their board. "Alright. So Gayan, or Vincent, worked for the Priman family. He was with Eugene Priman on their way back from the Southern Piece auction at York Shin City. They were ambushed and kidnapped because of an item—the comb." He doodled a comb—that looked more like the remains of a dead fish— and linked it to some strange thing he had written.

She squinted her eyes, trying to read the word.

 _Dnenan?!_

"The hell did you write?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at the words scribbled on the whiteboard. "Dnenan? Did I miss something?"

He glared at her. "Priman. Dumbass. Get a new pair of eyes."

"Get a new handwriting," she shot back. She had expected him to have a pretty handwriting, something slender and elegant to match his graceful movements. But his handwriting was slanted, cranky, the result of a mind that thought faster than his hand could follow. The pen chased after his words in an angular mess of scribbly lines. "You'd think a guy who took penmanship classes would know how to freaking write."

"I was _nine_ for God's sake. It was my mom's decision!"

"I'm pretty sure if you blackmailed me, I wouldn't even be able to read the letter," she said.

He turned toward the board, and his marker glided on its white surface with lithe, lissome loops. He was covering the words, but she could see a smoothly crafted letter that was nothing like his horrendous handwriting. "You prefer that?" he said, and moved aside with a petty smirk.

He had written a gorgeous _Fuck you_ in slender cursive calligraphy.

She cocked an eyebrow, though she was smiling. "You can write like a computer font, but you still choose to write like a drunk fly?"

He tapped the marker against his nose. "That's not my real handwriting. That's what my mother wanted me to write like." He tapped the waves of illegible letters. "That's me."

She shook her head, even though she knew where he was coming from. She had to admit his handwriting had something charming; it was him, in a way. Too smart for words to contain him, with an intelligence that burst with impatient penmanship. It was more personal, more _Killua_.

He swiveled. "Now stop interrupting me. That's rude."

She opened her mouth, but then chose to remain quiet.

"So," he started, writing another name on the board. "Our main suspect for Priman's abduction is Erik Faem. Which means he's after the comb, too. He hired Mulgrad to capture Priman and his butler and then got rid of Priman's body—Gayan Juma somehow escaped and concealed all the proof someplace Faem couldn't reach." He unfolded a piece of paper and fixed it under Mulgrad's name—with a peach. "Priman and his butler spent the night at this warehouse in the Pit."

She pursed her lips. When they had realized they were working on the same case, she had insisted that he told her everything. He had been reluctant to get her involved, but she had information he needed that she couldn't reveal if she didn't know the whole story.

To think Erik Faem, with his sunny appearance, could be behind the death of Priman, his friend.

"Faem was a friend of Priman," she voiced.

"In appearance."

She gave him the copy of Gayan's entry that mentioned Faem's visit. "Still, write that somewhere."

The diary entry went between Priman's name and Faem's, with a big question mark. "I've also heard that Faem's wife, Olivia Faem, used to be friends with Arashi Kareha-Priman." He turned toward her. "You told me Faem had another friend, too."

"Ziam Torana," she said, cringing at the sound of her own name. "He died the same death as Mulgrad's. Charred to the bone, his corpse hard like wood. Both of the crimes were covered with arson."

Killua narrowed his eyes, tapping the marker against his nose as he stared at Ziam Torana's entry on the board. "Faem has a knack for killing his friends, apparently."

"And he kills them all the same way. It's been four years since Ziam's death. Faem either mastered nen or has a person working for him who can produce the curse."

He uncapped the marker. "The oath," he said, and wrote something that looked more like w _lh_ than _oath_. "Mulgrad was under the oath, but he wasn't aware of it. Problem is, he told me he sold Faem's information to a client of his for a high price; I'm wondering how he managed to counter the oath."

"Perhaps it kills on action rather than intention," she theorized. "He died when he revealed Faem was his client to you, but perhaps he had someone else do the transaction for him. He's rich enough to pay someone to do his work."

"Or perhaps he hadn't been cursed then, but that's unlikely. Your theory is quite good." He moved to the other side of the board. "What do we know about Ziam Torana?"

"Not much. He was the son of Sovan Torana and Janai Arilia. He was the CEO of a textile company before he died. He was married to Sana Omali, and they had four children. Alina, Miban, Kolanai and Narii. He had founded an association to help children who had cancer. Um. He was Tanalean and was killed a few days after the anniversary of the end of the Kumotori crisis, surely as a way to pass it off as a hate crime."

He drew another question mark above Ziam's name. "To be continued. Next." He wrote another name below Gayan's. "Next hint is, this girl. Penelope. The person Gayan wanted to entrust all his information to. The person who didn't find all his information, too."

"I found nothing about her."

"We'll find," he said, but didn't linger on her name. Instead, he took the final piece of hint they had, the card he had received the night he had inhaled the toxic smokes, and put it on a clear portion of the whiteboard. "And finally, our supposed ally Charybdis, who tells me I have to save some idiot."

"The hunter named Elias," she mused.

"The one and only."

He walked over next to her and stared at the whiteboard, hands on his hips with a proud smile. "I did a neat job for a first time."

"It's just a board, Killua."

"You're just jealous."

She rolled her eyes. "So, what's the plan now? You said you would be able to use your Godspeed thing in three days, but until then we can't just sit here and wait."

"Well, before we save Elias, we need to know where he is. I suggest going to the Priman mansion. I'll talk to Arashi and distract the infiltrator."

"Do you know who the infiltrator is?"

"I figured it out."

"What's my role in this plan, then?" she said, crossing her arms. "I may not be Killua Zoaldyeck but I'm a fairly good spy. I could keep an eye on the infiltrator."

"No," he interrupted. "There's no way I'm endangering your life."

"I wasn't asking for your permission," she calmly said. "I'm a grown adult and a crime hunter, Killua. I've dealt with worse than a guy spying on Arashi Kareha-Priman. Besides, you don't get to order me around."

"…"

She sighed. "I know you're not used to teamwork in crime hunting. But I'm not giving up on this case. I need to work on something. I'm not gonna slow you down."

"It's not a matter of slowing me down—though I do prefer working alone because I have an unnatural pace and an erratic way to work. You're not slow; I'm just too fast. But I won't forgive myself if something happens to you."

"Don't worry about me. I'm capable of defending myself."

He held her gaze. "I suppose there's nothing I can say to make you change your mind."

"No."

A long exhale followed. Killua seemed to war with himself, torn between his reason and his worry. "Alright. I don't get to boss you around anyway."

"No, you don't. So it's decided? I spy on the guy while you talk to Arashi."

"Yeah. Then, I'll check the warehouse. Alone. It's better if your involvement keeps you in the shadows. They won't expect you to be my ally then."

 _And it keeps me safer_ , she thought, partly annoyed that he was so worried and partly moved. "If that reassures you."

"It does."

"They'll realize at some point that I'm behind this, you know. You can't always think about my safety while disregarding yours."

He frowned. "I'm aware. But until I know how Faem deals with hindrances, I prefer keeping your involvement in the case a secret, like Lynd did. I'm already worried about you and Leorio, because Faem could easily try to pull a dick move on you to reach me. He sent a spy last time who saw me enter Mag's building. If he knows you're as much of a hindrance as I am _and_ you have the comb, he won't hesitate to strike."

She hated to admit that he was right. "But he hasn't done anything yet. It's not a secret that you and I are close."

"Yeah, I know. But I'm still worried."

"I don't like being thought of as a chain that restricts your freedom. We'll deal with that later. For the time being, Faem doesn't think my existence is problematic, and he hasn't tried to kill me."

He sighed. "Alright." He seemed to hesitate then. "I don't see you as a burden, if that's what you think. I'm just saying that if I were a crazy Mafia leader and some guy was trying to thwart my plans, I'd attack his loved ones so he learns his place."

Her expression softened. "Your loved ones?" she repeated with a fond smile.

To which he just blinked and looked away, the corner of his lips quirking up. "I know from experience that it hurts more when you harm someone close to your target rather than your target itself. Countless clients had hired me or my siblings to kill the wife of some guy or their children or their best friend."

"That's how it works with the dark world. We deal with it."

Silence and a distant gaze were the only replies she got. She could tell he was still concerned, but she wasn't yielding.

"Okay. Next, we have to go through Mulgrad's office and find who's the client he sold Faem's info to," Killua changed the topic.

"I can do that since you already have the warehouse."

He begrudgingly agreed. "Then, all that's left is saving Elias."

"Find where Elias is being kept, save him, steal the info about Mulgad's hidden client and Faem's potential enemy, explore the warehouse," she listed.

"And stay alive," he muttered.

"Seems doable?"

He frowned. "Doable or not, we don't have a choice."

"Don't be so gloomy." She nudged him. "Come with me. Some cupcakes will change your mind."

He smiled then. "Okay, boss."

* * *

In the living room, the TV was still on. The news anchor was mentioning something about new measures taken by the mayor to improve the living conditions in the Pit, but Hana paid little attention to it. In all these years, countless measures had been thought of and some had been implemented, but very little had changed. The criminals proliferating in the Pit had every intention to protect their territory from any official intervention, even if that meant sacrificing the inhabitants who were stuck there. They were cannon fodder.

She took the cupcakes out from the fridge and put them on the coffee table facing the TV. Just as Killua joined her—he had barely been there for a half a minute that he had already devoured a cupcake— the news anchor changed the topic.

" _The serial killer Mikna Coal, who had been caught a few weeks ago, has been transferred to the Hunter Crime Department Services in a quarantine sector to be examined by qualified hunters. According to our sources, Coal has been unresponsive to the attempts of the Police to question him, hence the need to refer to the HCDS for a further investigation. However, while the Whisper is still roaming free, some politicians such as Guilliam Freton have been denouncing a lack of action from the HCDS and a misconception of their priorities."_

It was only when the picture of the news anchor was replaced by Freton's brooding face that Hana realized she had been staring. She could come to two conclusions after the news anchor's introduction: first, the Whisper's ability to control people to kill for him had been kept a secret, since Coal was still being held responsible for his kills. Second, the Whisper's case had become a public issue again.

" _It seems rather reckless to fret on a jailed serial killer when a free one is still terrorizing the city,"_ Freton said to the cameras. _"Especially when we know that no one at the HCDS has ever been able to catch the Whisper. In such a dire situation, deploying great forces to trap the Whisper is what the HCDS should be working on. Our city is no longer safe with the Whisper, and we don't want him to take our children as he did three years ago, before disappearing without ever being caught. That is not a viable situation. The priority ought to be to end this case that has been dragging for way too long and give our citizens some peace of mind."_

"A fitting name," Killua commented, dubious eyes watching Freton as he ate his fourth cupcake.

"Hmm. He doesn't know Coal is linked to the Whisper. I think Allan didn't want to spread terror and wreak havoc in the city."

"With guys like this Freton ready to tear at anyone's throat and sow discord, I can see why."

The report ended with the news anchor quoting the HCDS's vice-president. _"Emre Nightowl has assured that the HCDS was actively working on the Whisper's case: "Our agents have been relentlessly investigating, but our discoveries cannot be spread lest it gave away our plans, knowledge and position to the Whisper. Our advantage is our secrecy: if the Whisper doesn't know what we know, then he cannot guess our next move. Thank you for your understanding and your patience." Freton has tweeted that he felt insulted by the HCDS's response, but the vice-president has not said anything more."_

Killua scoffed. "Whatever. The guy just wants to pick a fight and earn the votes of anti-hunters."

"Probably," she absent-mindedly said, eyes still riveted on the TV. She only looked away when the news anchor changed the topic to talk about soccer results.

It felt odd to hear about the Whisper on the TV. It made the issue public, and an irrational part of her feared that her responsibility was multiplied each time a new person watched the news or read the newspapers. As though they all knew she had had a role in that case, even though she was but an unknown and anonymous anecdote.

A cupcake appeared in front of her just as she was gauging the number of people who watched the morning news. She glanced at Killua, who was watching her intently.

"Eat," he ordered. "You get too stressed when you're hungry."

She smiled, and ate the cupcake. "I'm not stressed. I'm alright. Just thinking about some stuff."

She wasn't lying. The report about the Whisper had reminded her of the previous night's useless research, of the flower tattoo. And her intention to contact Kai.

She remembered, then, that she had wanted to ask Killua for his opinion. She _did_ stress then. She desperately needed some encouragement but she couldn't expect him to lie just so she felt better about her decisions.

She took the now empty plate to the kitchen, put two glasses of water on the counter, and drank her glass. He followed her, scrutinizing her expression. Somehow, she felt like he knew everything she was feeling.

"There's something I wanted to ask you," she cautiously started. "Or well, tell you. About the Whisper."

She saw his eyelids twitch ever so slightly, the only hint of his bewilderment. And probably his anticipation. He reacted that way every time she mentioned her past, as though he was covering just how impatient he was with a serene mask so to make her feel at ease. Strangely enough, she felt safer and opened up easily when she wasn't pushed to do so—again, how he had understood that when she herself had no clue was beyond her understanding.

"Tell me," he simply said, leaning against the counter.

She took a deep breath. "The Whisper has a tattoo on his palm, an amaryllis. He kills his victims with it. I saw it before he inflicted the curse on me, but at the time, I used to think I was just imagining things.

"Turns out it's real. A part of me wants to ignore it and leave it to Allan, which is what I always do when I have a problem, but this time I kinda… I want to know what it means. I want to know at least what I saw and what happened to me, to put a word on the curse and perhaps… Perhaps also to prove that it exists and I wasn't just hallucinating. I want to make sure it's real, and I want to make sure I'm not the problem."

His face was serious, with the same furrowed eyebrows he wore whenever he was thinking about something. Not the curious or casual thinking—for this one, he looked up with a puzzled expression. But the calculating kind of thinking, when he turned his brain upside down and examined her and peered into her thoughts with his piercing gaze. "The tattoo could be inspired by a real poisonous amaryllis."

There. He had guessed her thoughts. "Yeah, that's what I was thinking. It might be linked to a traditional attribute inspired by an existing flower."

"A remote culture then. Otherwise, the idea would have been theorized."

"Exactly. Probably some long lost culture. Possibly a tribe. I just think it's too much of a coincidence for a flower to be the source of the curse; he couldn't have come up with this alone. Especially that the stamens pierce through the victim."

Killua crossed his arm, narrowed his eyes. "I suppose the hunter website was useless."

"Pretty much."

"So what you need is either a botanical hunter or a culture hunter."

"I was considering contacting a culture hunter. If that flower exists, then it has to be scarcely known, because there are good botanical hunters working with the HCDS and they would have recognized the symptoms if the flower had been known."

"If even botanical hunters don't know about that flower, then chances are a culture hunter won't either."

She had thought about that too. But Kai wasn't a common culture hunter. "I'm aware," she prudently said, and something in his demeanor showed he had caught the hesitation in her voice. "I don't need the flower. I just need to know if there is some culture where it's mentioned, even in some old text or on the walls of a grotto or whatever."

"Fair enough. I suppose you know a culture hunter, then?"

"I do," she said, still trudging around her question. She wasn't quite sure why she was so nervous to mention Kai. Perhaps it was because she knew Killua would be annoyed, just like Thomas or Lynd would be. They didn't know the culture hunter he was; they only knew the evil ex who had broken Hana's fragile heart—except he was not evil and she was not fragile. It was probably her fault, but she couldn't blame them. She didn't like Thomas's ex and would probably break the neck of Lynd's last boyfriend if she could. "Kai is a culture hunter. I want to contact him and ask him to look more into it."

Killua reacted exactly as she had predicted—though with much less obviousness. His eyebrows knitted together and annoyance flashed in his eyes. "Are there no other solutions?"

"Not really. He's the only culture hunter I know. Besides, he already knows about the flower and I don't want to talk to someone I don't trust. I trust him."

Her last words did nothing to help the irritation on Killua's face. "The friend in me says you shouldn't do it. But sentimentality aside, that's the best chance you have to answer your questions."

She sighed of relief. She hadn't been aware of how desperate she was for some validation, as though someone could tell her she wasn't rushing into a bad decision again. She was thankful for his impartiality and his objectivity—two things that definitely weren't her forte. "Thank you," she breathed.

"For?"

"For hearing me out and comforting my decision."

He shrugged. "I'm still not happy about that, but I'd have done the same thing. Sometimes it's necessary to be reasonable."

"Does it annoy you?" she asked. "If it can make you feel better, I'm not happy about that either. But I have to."

"It's not that it annoys me. I understand."

She shifted closer. "I promise, nothing's gonna happen."

"How can you be sure he won't try something?" he said, a cold edge in his voice. Not directed at her, but at Kai.

(She had somehow managed to make yet another friend of hers dislike him.)

"When we broke up for good, he respected my will. Besides, even if he does attempt anything, there's no way I'd let him. I'm strong enough to resist him. And I've moved on."

"I'm not questioning your strength. I'm questioning his intentions."

"Killua, Kai is like a puppy. You step on him and he apologizes. He doesn't hold any grudge against anyone, he's… sickeningly nice. I can't imagine him having bad intentions for me. Or anyone."

He gave her a long look dripping with jealousy. But he didn't act on it. "If you say so, I believe you. And you said you had moved on, so it's all cool."

"Yeah. I swear, I've grown past the whole Kai drama. I'm not ever dabbling in it again."

He managed a smile, and it eased his features. "Wise decision." Then, more seriously: "On my side, if I ever hear about a poisonous amaryllis, I'll let you know."

"Thank you," she said, relieved that he had moved past the Kai issue.

But there was still something he wasn't saying. Something that had nothing to do with Kai and everything to do with the flower and her worries. "You told me amaryllises were strongly associated with Tanalea, once. You think the Whisper could be Tanalean?"

Her relief shrunk. "There's a possibility. But I hope he's not," she admitted.

"Why?"

"I'm scared for us Tanaleans every time a bad guy turns out to be Tanalean, because the consequences can be harsh. People lash out on us."

"There's no link between being Tanalean and being a criminal."

"Say that to racist shitbags," she sighed. "There's always someone who will make the link and a bunch of idiots who will agree. And they're the loudest. Tanaleans have had it hard ever since the Kumotori issue. It's like it was never over."

"The Kumotori crisis is over though. What's happening now is nothing like it."

She frowned, bracing herself for something she wasn't sure of. "What do you mean? What's happening then?"

"Something worse," he breathed. He seemed to recall something, but then he turned away. "The crisis was over the moment the rebels surrendered. What's happening now is the aftermath. A bit like the havoc that upturns a city after a tsunami; buildings crumble, health facilities are destroyed, nuclear issues become imminent. In poorer areas, there's always the risk of an epidemic crisis. _That's_ what's happening."

"At this point it's more of a pandemic crisis. It's gone over the borders. The fear—of us."

"The fear is also within the country itself. People are wary." He seemed to hesitate. "I feel like certain people are more prone to being discriminated than some others, within the country itself. For some reason."

"It stems from the core of the issue," she explained, recalling what her wise uncle had told her. "I'm not entirely sure, but I think the rebels were mostly from the North—Tejeman. You recognize them usually—they have strong features and olive skin. They were rebelling against the Valnai at the government. I think the conflicts have been ongoing for a long time between the Tejeman and the Valnai, except this time the Tejeman rallied more civilians. The military then tried to pull a putsch—the general is a Roa."

"Isn't Tejeman a family name?" he inquired.

"It is. But a lot of family names actually englobe a whole clan of people. Tanalea is just a bunch of clans wielded together in a huge country. Tejeman are from the North and the Middle. Roa in the Middle and the East. Torana in the meadows. Kamai in the littoral. Valnai in the North-East, near the High Forest. And so on. They're usually the biggest clans and you'll find countless Tejeman and Torana."

"So the issue initially opposed Tejeman and Valnai."

"Pretty much. Then a lot of minor clans got swept in the riots. They wanted the Valnai to recede and give up the presidency."

"Did the president suck?"

"I'm not sure. I think he was corrupted. All the money that came from taxes was stolen for his personal expenses. The people blamed unemployment on him. He's not the worst though. He did manage to raise literacy and send girls to school, so he's not all bad. My uncle told me the issue is a lot deeper and stems from centuries-old rivalry between Tejeman and Valnai—for whatever reason." Her face darkened. "They also accuse him of murder and conspiracy. When the general who had led the failed putsch forty years ago died in his cell five years ago, the Tejeman accused the Valnai President of having killed him. Then the President's mandate ended and new elections were issued. I don't know if any investigation was required for the general's death."

Killua twitched. He remained silent for a second or two, his face unreadable. "This is a mess," he said then.

"Definitely. A thick mess. And we're all victims of a centuries-old rivalry between the two oldest Tanalean families who won't stop hating each other."

He passed a hand through his hair. "I just hope there will be an end to this." He started moving away then, toward the workroom. "Anyway, politics talks are nice but there's work to do." He opened the door, sauntering in, his eyes scanning his masterpiece. "Our first mission will be in Priman's mansion. I will talk to Arashi and tell her about Elias, you find the location. I'll need the blueprints of the mansion to show you what I have in mind, you have a way to quickly get them?"

"You already have a plan?" she said with disbelief.

He flashed a self-assured smile. A beautiful display of confidence matching the spark of intelligence in his eyes. Hana realized then that Killua hadn't exaggerated, when he had said he was unnaturally fast.

It might have been an understatement.

"Of course I do."

* * *

 **11:45 P.M.**

"Okay, are we ready for tomorrow?"

"Yup."

"Rifle?" she said, picking the weapon and examining it for the nth time.

"Check," he absent-mindedly said.

"Um, communication devices?" She swept the table, touching each element she listed as if to make sure they were really there. "Medicine? Water? Ammo? Daggers?" She lifted a lid, peeked into a suitcase. "Notebooks and blueprints of the Priman mansion?"

"Check, check, check again."

"Okay, uh, radar? First-aid spray? Glov—"

He sighed and dragged her out of the workroom. "We're ready, Hana. You're ready."

"But what if I'm missing something?" she argued, though she didn't try to resist as he led her to the balcony of her apartment.

"The only thing you're missing is relaxation."

She sighed. "I'm not stressed. Just cautious."

"Overcautious. You said it yourself; you're just going to spy on a butler, not infiltrate the Hunter Association President's office." He stopped walking and turned around. She was so lost in thought she nearly crashed into him before he grabbed her shoulders to make her stop. "You're ready. We've reviewed the plan five times: we go together to the Priman mansion. I enter through the main gate and distract the attention. You go through the forest surrounding the mansion and avoid the cameras. You shoot him with your badass rifle to follow his movements and locate him while I talk to Arashi Kareha. Once you've got the info you need, you run away and wait for me at the Bronze Stag statue in the Balia park. Alright?"

She nodded. "I'm just worried. You found out about the Morse communication device hidden under the Priman mansion, but what if the butler isn't using it to communicate with the enemies?"

"What would he use otherwise? I've checked and there are no other ways to quickly communicate without using a phone or a letter, which is more dangerous." He paused and patted her shoulder. "Trust me. Once I mention Elias, the butler will rush underground to inform his allies that I know about him. He will do so as soon as he can, which means when he leaves me alone with Arashi Kareha. The Morse device is underground, out of the cameras' range. It's the safest for him."

"Well then, how are you sure that it's him? How are you sure this butler, Oscar, is the infiltrator? That's still a wild guess. There could be someone behind the cameras who saw you."

"Nah. I wouldn't base an entire investigation on a wild guess." He led her to the balcony. The night air cleansed her senses as soon as they were out, a minty wind shaking them into awareness. He motioned her to sit on the couch, and gave her a mug of tea. "I visited the Priman mansion some time ago, pretending that I wanted to check Priman's stuff, to make sure that butler was the one who gave me away. I had slid a fake piece of info—a supposed rendezvous at the Pit with a hunter— in the pocket of my coat."

"A bait," she guessed.

"Yep. A day later, the place showed signs of a presence. Nothing big, but someone had definitely been there between the time I came and the time Oscar took my coat at the Priman mansion. I didn't risk a confrontation though. That was useless."

The tension in her shoulders eased down then. "Okay. That sounds right."

"I told you; relax. It's all gonna be alright. We've got nothing to lose. We've both rested enough and worked enough. We can do this."

"I know. But what if we don't find where Elias is being kept?"

"We'll find another way then. But I'm almost sure you'll find that tomorrow; the coordinates have to be mentioned at some point through the communication for the message to hop to its destination."

She gave a brisk nod. "Alright."

"Still worried?"

"A bit," she admitted. "I'm guessing this Elias is important, and I don't want to be too late to save him. God knows what they've done to him."

"Important? To whom?"

"Well, Charybdis said we had to save him. He probably knows something we need. And I feel like you care about him."

He burst out laughing. " _I_ care about Elias? Please. We barely talked for an hour. An hour during which he tried to kill me and get in my pants."

She relaxed then, leaning back in her seat. "You can't really blame him."

"For? Trying to kill me or trying to get in my pants?"

"Both. Both alright."

"Why would you want to kill me?" he asked.

"How come you never questioned the 'get in your pants' part?"

"Because that I can understand. I'd probably get in my own pants if I could." He blinked, and a sly smile spread on his lips. "Wait. Right. I already do."

"Oh my God," she pressed, her cheeks warming up at the thought. It was terribly hot and intimate. A deadly combo for her fantasy-filled brain. "Here's the answer to why I'd want to kill you."

"My incredible observation skills and good sense? That's harsh."

"No. Your smugness and your… shamelessness."

"Look at you," he started with a warm smile. "A shameless smug ass criticizing another shameless smug ass for being shameless and smug. You don't see something strange in that pattern?"

"Shut up. I'm pretty tame—and modest."

"Whatever. That's an endless loop. Let's talk about something else before we quip back and forth and enter a never-ending loop of asshole-ish smugness."

She chortled. "What do you want to talk about? I'm up for anything that doesn't make me use my brain. I'm tired."

"Damn," he said. "Just when I wanted to discuss the cultural impact of Megamshill in a country more famous for its geopolitical disasters than its poetry."

She rolled her eyes. "Shut up before I ramble about the solvation of differential equation systems with matrices."

He held his hands up. "I give up."

"Find a suitable topic then," she demanded.

"Suitable?" he smirked. He leaned back in the couch, crossing his arms beneath his head. "I'm feeling daring tonight. We should talk about…" his gaze held hers, a suggestive glint in his intense eyes. "… Indecent stuff."

"That's broad," she played along, acting cool—but her cheeks were giving her away.

"What are thinking of, when I say indecent?" he teased.

She was thinking about doing uncatholic things to him. "… Let's not go down that road, okay? Let's talk about cute stuff instead."

He pouted. "I'm cute. We can talk about me."

"Narcissist."

"You prefer talking about you?" He settled more comfortably on the couch. "Okay then. Let's talk about us _and_ indecent stuff."

"Oh my God."

He flashed a cheeky smile—an adorable sight. "No?"

"Go ahead," she gave in. "I'm curious now."

His smile broadened. "Nice. Let's start slow." He held her gaze. Somehow, she felt like she'd regret accepting. "Tell me about your first kiss."

"Why should _I_ start?"

"I'll answer right after you, dumbass."

She rolled her eyes. "Huh. I was thirteen. Um. It was right before I left for the exam. I kissed the boy I had a crush on because he was leaving the town and I wasn't even sure I'd come back alive."

"Aw. How cute. Ready to face death at thirteen. How was it?"

She smiled. "The kiss? Well… Wet. Awkward. Clumsy." She paused, her features softening. "Very gentle."

"You sound like you cared about that guy."

"I did. He was… my friend. My best friend. My first real crush too, and my first fantasies. Then, I left for the exam and he left to follow his mom for her work. We only met back three years later when his family came back."

"You're still friends?"

"We are," she hesitated.

He made an unconvinced sound. "I can't believe your first kiss was Thomas."

She glanced at him with a crooked grin. "Of course you'd guess."

"You never dated?"

"Nah. We grew past our baby crushes. When we met back, I was head over heels for Kai and he was head over heels for June and we loved each other in a completely platonic and friendly way."

Another unconvinced sound. Which sounded a lot like jealousy.

"Your turn," she demanded.

"I was almost fifteen when I had my first kiss. It was with a girl named Venna who had kissed a lot of boys and was a year older than me. In Tona Riva. And it was alright. Lasted two seconds. I left the city and never saw her after that."

"You're no fun," she said. "I'm sure you were so shy you couldn't meet her eyes when it was done."

"… Shut up. Next topic."

"Which is?"

Another suggestive glance in her direction. Another leap of her heart. "Your first time."

"First time doing what? Shoving red peppers in my nostrils or holding hands? Be specific."

The intensity of his gaze burned her skin. His lips curved in smirk. She felt his pinkie brush her hand, tentatively, stroking her own fingers in a discrete, slow, _obsessing_ motion. "Having sex."

She shivered, her body whirring with sudden desire. The word sounded delicious in his mouth. It made her want to steal it from his lips. "With Kai. I was seventeen. And. It was…" she searched for a word. "Pretty fucking amazing."

Unconvinced sound. Again. Much to her perilous satisfaction. "At least he's good in bed."

"I don't know if he was good in bed, but I was pretty lucky in that aspect. I didn't stumble on a selfish guy."

"Yeah?"

"He was very gentle. And when I told him it was my first time, he just… focused entirely on me. I'll let you imagine."

"Pfft. That's like basic decency, to 'focus' on your girl."

"Oh? So you're the kind to take care of your girl, too?"

He locked gazes with her. "Intensively."

"Sweet," she commented, though her head was hot. He wouldn't leave her eyes, and the blue spark that bore into her own aroused a thousand needs in her. He was overwhelming. Overwhelming and galvanizing. "You speak like you like it."

"It's very rewarding. To hear a girl moan your name and tug at your hair while you pleasure her. You feel her body tremble and you know you're the reason for it, and trust me, a girl's body shaking with pleasure is a very… beautiful thing."

She swallowed. Her breath was shallow. She pressed her legs together in a pointless attempt to stifle the throb of desire. It took every ounce of control to sit still and not strip him naked at this very moment. It wasn't so much the fact that they were talking about sexual matters; she had had countless shameless conversations with people of all genders. But it was a whole different thing to talk about sex with Killua. His sultry voice, the slow stroke of his finger against hers, his gaze burning like a blue flame, the night glow embracing him in an almost sensual light… It was all so different, so dangerous, so tempting.

He was looking at her like he was doing these things to her.

"Well," she started, and cleared her throat when she heard the sound of her voice. There was a raspy edge to it, a blatant show of her lack of control. "Boyds' bodies are quite a beauty too. A bit like a mountain kind of landscape, with valleys and reliefs." She smiled. "But I think you know that."

He wholeheartedly laughed. "Are you referring to my body or to my attraction to boys?"

Two fingers were now stroking hers. She found herself intertwining her pinkie with his. "Both."

"You're right. Boys are hot. Girls are hot. Non-binary people are hot."

"Everyone is hot," she concluded.

"Everyone is hot. Sometimes it's a bit overwhelming."

"Says the guy whose abs nearly killed me."

With his other hand, he started lifting his shirt. "You called?"

" _No_." She put her hand on top of his, stopping him before he fried her brain with his discrete tattoos and his not-so-discrete incredibly hot abs. "I intend to keep the very little neurons I have left in my brain."

He laughed again, a silvery sound echoing in her whole body. "So I make you dumb." He rested his head on the couch. She stared at him, startled by their closeness. She had leaped from her seat to stop his hand, and now she was almost sitting on him, her hand clasping his, her face inches from his.

Seeing Killua from up close was quite an experience. Seeing his carved cheekbones and straight nose and feline eyes from up close was a devastatingly sweet experience.

"You do," she admitted. "My brain stops functioning when you're too close," she said, surprising herself with her dauntless confession. Being straightforward with her feelings when they were as real and deep as those she bore for Killua wasn't something she was used to. It felt dangerous but so gratifying to let out a hint of her attraction.

But while a part of her longed for him, desperately so, another grew restless with worry. If they kept getting closer, they would eventually reach a point of no-return. Was he aware of what he was getting himself into? Was he aware that she was a creature of doubt and insecurities, that she wasn't always easy to be with, that she wasn't all laughs and flirts and pleasantness? Somehow, she felt like a huge black hole, a beautiful star collapsing into a timeless nothingness, a void in which he was slowly travelling, unaware that he had just stepped into a lethal time loop.

She mentally cringed. How could she think of herself in those terms? She hated that fluctuating self-esteem, those words she used to speak of herself.

His hand sneaked around her waist, his palm resting on her back. The contact was comforting, yet she felt as though he was testing the ground, testing their boundaries. She scooted closer, ignoring her doubts, hoping they would shush down, the space of an embrace. "That's good to know," he simply said, but his voice was breathy and his pupils dilated.

"Why good?"

"It gives me ideas."

"Tell me," she breathed. "Share those ideas. What would you do to me?"

"Make you so dumb you'd forget your own name," he said, fingertips moving in a circular motion on her back. She couldn't look away. "Until you only know mine."

The words caressed her lips and set her on fire. It occurred to her, then, that desire was a capricious, tempestuous and loud thing, because in that moment it was all she knew. A fierce want kindled by his words and fueled by his touch, sizzling with passion. And it was so tantalizing. All she could think of was how much she wanted to give herself up to him, to let him do whatever he wanted to her.

She risked a caress of his lower lip with her thumb. She could ignore all her concerns. She could forget it all for a minute, an hour, a night. First, she would kiss him. Taste his lips and then his body. Find what made him sigh and what made him moan and what made him cry out in a plea for _more_. Temptation was such a convincing muse.

But she couldn't ignore her worries anymore. Not when she had spent all this time forcing herself to face her issues. She knew that if she hadn't been so clouded with doubts, she would have kissed him. Perhaps once, or twice, or a hundred times. She would have kissed him dumb and begging until his lips were swollen and her kisses were tattooed on his skin. But the worries were heavy in her fingertips, the questions burdens that sealed her lips shut.

She couldn't mess it up. This precarious balance, this motivation to fix herself. She couldn't break it. She couldn't risk it. She couldn't _waste_ it. She had a weight to get rid of. If she was having him, then she was having him free and light. Without the voices that chained her up to her darkness.

Her phone rang then. A much-appreciated savior and much displeasing mood-killer.

She had never been so torn between worshipping or stepping on her phone.

* * *

The moment exploded in a vibrant ringtone and two resigned sighs.

"Of all times to call," she said, her voice weary.

"That's a needed cliché in every corny story."

"Fuck this author then," she muttered as she drew her phone out. The annoyance faltered from her face when she saw who was calling. "I'll take it." She got up to distance herself then. "Mister Fox?"

Killua's head was still hazy after the heated interlude. He could barely focus at the mention of Allan Fox's name. He watched as Hana disappeared in the living-room, and rested his head on the couch in an attempt to clear his mind. He caught a few words, but his brain couldn't articulate a meaning behind the phone call. It was too focused on her lips and her body, on the things he had said and the things _she_ had said. He had never been so close to completely lose control. He still felt the torturous pressure of her hand, of her gaze, of her heartbeats against his.

Was it really them, just then, speaking these daring words, stepping on boundaries? For a moment, he had felt like less of a friend and more of a lover, with the ghost of a kiss lurking between them.

(And he wasn't even mentioning this thick _lust_ still pulsing in his head.)

(… Not just in his head.)

He exhaled, letting the cold stifle the ardent thoughts. The pleasure was still shivering in him, but when she wasn't so close, he could think straight. And he could see the sheer boldness of what they had nearly done.

How had is started?

He was the one who had broached the topic, who had led this conversation to its heated paroxysm, but she was the one who had admitted she was attracted to him.

He inhaled.

So she felt the same way. He wasn't sure what to do with that information. Actually, at this time, he wasn't sure about anything except wanting her naked in his bed.

He passed a hand over his face, ran it through his hair.

She was attracted to him. And he was definitely attracted to her.

What to do now?

What was stopping them?

He didn't know. He wasn't certain. There had been a barrier in her eyes, something tormented and torn. He didn't want to be the cause of this turmoil.

It always seemed so simple in books and series and movies. "Just kiss," he would say to the characters in this series who wouldn't kiss. "Just freaking bang," he would infuriatingly say to the same characters in the same series who wouldn't freaking bang. It always seemed so much simpler when he wasn't concerned, when he didn't _care_. To share a kiss or a bed, for an hour or a night, the time for a fuse to heat up and die.

But the truth was, it wasn't simple. Not when it was so deep, when he cared as much as he did. Not when he was so scared of disappointing her, of losing her. Not when he had been so hurt before.

Not when he had secrets.

His eyes were lost in the sky.

What was happening between them?

Something strong. Something hot. Something dripping with fondness and boiling with want. Sometimes like a lover's plea muffled by hesitation. Something like a promise for a free fall.

Right. A promise. A free fall.

He closed his eyes.

Being with her made him feel like he was standing on the edge of a cliff. A high, high cliff, above the clouds and above reason. With every touch, every embrace and every laugh, he took a step forward. Pulled by the grand sight beneath his feet, the vastness of this unknown. Pulled by a call for a free fall.

And every passing day, he felt closer to giving in. Closer to falling. Falling hard without a parachute, falling straight and fast. Through the clouds and the light and the searing air. With the cleansing elation, the immense awareness of the world tumbling down as he fell and fell.

Sometimes, it made him anxious. This free fall to the unknown, beckoning him to abandon himself to gravity. This feeling of being swallowed by something much bigger than he was. This fear that he'd be consumed by his passion, that he'd burn himself with his own desire. What if he crashed on the ground, far, far below, when the euphoria wore down? Would he come out unscathed from this reckless decision? He didn't have wings. He couldn't just jump and pretend it would be okay.

Not again.

He had fallen once. He had crashed to the ground and the elation had faded to misery. He had bled and he had picked himself up and he had fixed himself as much as he could, stitch by stitch. But he still had scars and they still smarted, reminding him over and over of his wounds that wouldn't heal.

He didn't want to bleed again. And most of all, he didn't want to bleed on her. His blood was corrosive. He never wanted to hurt her.

However, other times, none of that mattered. His wounds, his worries, his past experience. Gone. A voice murmured in his ear that he could jump, that he could answer this call of the void. This voice promised that there was no danger. No hurt and no threat. No way he could crash on the ground, this time. No way he would regret it. Those times, he almost believed the voice. He almost believed it when it said his scars had healed and he was ready again to jump and he would be safe and ready for her. He would walk closer to the edge, then, closer to the fall. He would stare at the void, and the void would stare back at him, and there was no fear and no reason and no doubt. His scars didn't pulse anymore. His mind stopped thinking.

There was just this heady, exhilarating _appel du vide_.

That night was one those times.

"Sorry for the time it took," Hana said as she came back. The sight of her shook something in him. A lot like the very last remnants of lust his brain hadn't watered down yet. "He wanted some important info, so I quickly sent it to him. They may have a lead on the Whisper."

"You're in contact with Fox about the Whisper?"

"Yeah." She crashed on the couch, next to him. She drew her knees up. "I somehow figured that avoiding the issue wouldn't erase it. So I think if I get mildly involved, it might help me get better." She paused. "And perhaps recover."

A few seconds passed, during which he was so fraught with relief he had no words to express it. But her features tensed with the weight of a confession she needed to share. He gently took her hand then, as he always did when she was about to spill. She squeezed his hand. "You feel ready to take care of yourself, then?" he asked, keeping his voice even so to not stress her out.

She inhaled deep. "Yeah. I feel ready. I can't avoid it forever. I feel like now's the time to start getting involved from afar, so I can purge the poison. I guess venom can be a medicine too." She fell silent. "You know," she started, looking for her words. "I think what triggered this reaction is the… the night I passed out. From drinking. The night you found me in a pool of wine. Ever since, it's like there have been alarms in my head and they've been ringing 'get a hold of yourself!' and eventually it reached me. I kept seeing all the fucked-up things I did two and three years ago, after my failure. I didn't want to sink so low again. I _never_ want to sink so low ever again."

"What do you mean?"

She remained silent, as though she was debating whether she could share that part of herself or not. "I did so many fucked-up things. I slept with guys I don't even remember, even when I didn't want sex. I drank myself to death. I overworked myself and took murderous cases that I would never have accepted had I been lucid, and sort of played with danger. I pushed myself to the limits, isolated myself from my relatives, and forged this stupid mask supposed to conjure a fake issue-less composure, to hide my problems and give a nice, polished image of me, as though eventually I'd merge with the mask and become it and my issues would magically disappear.

"I think somehow I was trying to destroy myself. I just wanted to get rid of myself, but at the same time I felt like it was unfair, like I was ditching my responsibility to live for Feri who had died. I felt… I felt that I had to keep living just because he couldn't. Just because I had survived. But I was crumbling and yet I refused all the help I could get, as though I was trying to punish myself somehow. I thought I deserved what was happening to me." She gave a weak smile. "It's completely fucked up. I was completely fucked up. I might still be."

He was thankful for her hand around his then, because her words were hard to bear and if he hadn't been sure that she was healthy and fine next to him, he might have thought she would drift away. "Fucked up isn't the word," he argued. "Damaged, traumatized, coping. Anything else works. But you're not fucked up. You're not the bad decisions you take and the fucked up things you do."

She gave a rueful smile. "I was terrible, though. I think I was living on autopilot and my autopilot was somehow wired for self-destruction. But I never want to fall so low again. I hurt my friends while I hurt myself. I still see Thomas crying and begging me to let him help on the night he came to fetch me, when I nearly got alcohol poisoning. I can't stand it. I can't stand that I could drag any of you down." She fumbled with her next words. "And I want to get better. I got a little taste of what it's like to feel in control of my life, I don't want to give it up."

"You will," he murmured. "You can do it."

"It's hard though, sometimes," she admitted. "Sometimes I want to give up and do my usual thing—avoid everything and pretend the issue will fix itself. It's hard to step out of my comfort zone."

"It is. It will drain you out. You'll wonder why you ever thought it was a good idea to change." He nudged her. "But then you'll get used to it. And you'll be happier. Lighter. Stronger. It's never easy, but it's worth all the trouble. Besides, we're here to help you. Let us lend a hand and your weight will be lighter to carry."

Her grin was the best relief. "Thank you. I'll do my best. And, um…" she blushed a bit through her smile. "Thanks for hearing me out. And for wanting to help me. And for being patient. And for holding my hand. And for generally being an awesome friend."

"No need to thank me, I do it naturally." He took his mug and finished his tea when she let go of his hand, a meager attempt to keep his hands busy before he got a hold of her again. He might not be able to let go if he touched her, that time. He glanced at her face as he swallowed the last gulp, her big eyes staring up at the constellations, two bright green mirrors to the sky. "Hana?" he called her then.

She turned toward him, face tilted in that alluring gesture that always got to him. "Hm?"

"I'm proud of you. And I hope you're proud of yourself too."

Her eyes slightly widened. Probably because she knew Killua well, and she knew Killua never said anything of the sort lightly.

Then, she grinned. The whole package Hana grin, the one he loved the most.

"Now I am."

* * *

 **2.** The feeling I have when I'm close to you.

* * *

 **A/N:** Alright, feel free to throw things at me, yell at me or be mad at me. I know. You wanted them to kiss. I did too. (Yes, I swear, my goal wasn't to frustrate you lol). But I hope you understood why they didn't kiss—it's something I've been hinting at for some time, and I believe Hana needs to take care of that and talk about her issues because it's important to feel ready.

Actually, trust me, the most impatient one here for the kiss is and will always be me. Because I KNOW when it happens and it's actually one of my favorite scenes and it's emotional and I had so much fun writing it, and I'm so impatient to share that with you ahhhh… So yes, I'm gonna join you and chant 'JUST KISS!' along with you because I want that to happen just as much as you do lol. (And yeah it's part of the written chapters… :') )

Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter! I felt that a sort of recap of everything was much needed, both for you and me, and I hope it helped you see clearer in the way things are (and also to remember some… important… charact—I mean, things.) I also really enjoyed writing the sexual tension (lol) and, especially, the part where Hana says she wants to feel better. That may sound conceited coming from me but I'm proud of her for taking that step forward.

Okay I should stop talking. **Did you like this chapter?** What was your favorite moment? Feel free to tell me you hate me for not making them kiss, I'll accept all complains as long as they're reviews lolol. Speaking of which, **please review**! I love reading your thoughts and it motivates me so much to keep writing!

Next chapter is called (brace yourselves) **Of alpacas and anacondas** , and it's a lot shorter than what I usually give you but it's necessary, more light-hearted, there's some action Hana annnnnd a hug. B) Below is a little preview of it (but no, I'm not telling you what's with that title lol).

See you in two weeks and thank you for your support!

* * *

 _She pressed her earpiece then. "Ready," she whispered, to Killua._

 _A second later, she heard the noise of the wind in the earpiece. "Wooh, it actually works," he replied. Then, he cleared his throat and took a particularly serious voice. "Received."_

 _She rolled her eyes. "You don't have to say that."_

" _Shh. I'm a special agent."_

" _You're more badass than any special agent, you don't need to act like one."_

"… _That's the nicest thing you've ever told me."_

 _She made a non-committal noise. "How's the situation?"_

" _I'm still on my way. In about ten minutes I'll be within hearing range so I'll have to stop talking."_

" _At last."_

" _Whatever, you'd die to hear my voice forever. Whispering scandalous things to you."_


	17. Of Alpacas and Anacondas

**A/N:** Hi guys! How have you been? :D

I know you must be thinking something's wrong because DAMN did Yui just publish a chapter that's just 5k words? Well yes! I did! *throws confetti*

 **Some news!**

 **Chapter 20 is done**! At long last! I still need to edit because some things are a bit sloppy and some transitions need work but it's done! It's 11k long though so I might cut it in halves, depending on how fast I work on chapters 21 and 22.

Also, after 70 kilometers spent with Ponyta as my buddy, I finallyyyyyy got my Rapidash. Damn.

(I'm still waiting for Ninetales ;-; )

As always **, thank you all for reading my story,** for your follows and favorites, and _especially_ for your reviews. Those of you who leave reviews on every chapter have a special place in my heart. You rock and I hope you find a Dragonite and, if you don't play Pokémon GO, then I hope you find money on the ground.

 **To the lovely guest who left two reviews on my last** **chapter** (I assume you're the same person?): THANK YOU! You made me really happy! I'm so glad you like the story and omg to say it sounds like professional work is the highest of praise! So **thank you so much**! I update every two weeks, usually on a Friday, so I hope you like the pace! I'm sorry I can't update faster, but I need this time to work on the story since I write my chapters long before I publish them (I need this leeway because the truth is I'm a very slow updater…). Besides I think a lot of readers are busy so shorter updates would be hard to catch up with. I'm sorry for your homework by the way! I hope it was all okay in the end :'D I'm so flattered you reread the story ahh! Thank you again! I hope you'll stick with me!

Anyway I'll end this A/N with **a little fic rec** (I figured some fic recs wouldn't hurt, right?) for you: if you like KilluaxOC, awesome writing, a super cool Killua and a super cute OC, go read **More than a Killer** by _EllieOptimistic_ because it's the bomb! Ellie is a talented writer and you won't regret it! I've been following this story since it was first published and it's one of the updates I look forward to the most.

(Feel free to PM me for more fic recs! I've got a bunch of amazing fics in my favorites that deserve so much love. I'll make sure to recommend some in my A/Ns from time to time!)

Okay, that's all! Go on and read! I hope you like the chapter, I'll be waiting for your thoughts ;)

* * *

Chapter 16: **Of alpacas and anacondas**

* * *

 **Thursday, April 30th**

 **9:48 A.M.**

Left, right, left.

Up in a branch, nestled between two tiles on the wall, hidden in a fake decoration marble on the pillars…

The Priman mansion was fraught with cameras. And for a reason; Eugene Priman used to collect Renaissance artwork, some of the most coveted pieces in the world. Countless burglars had tried to break into the highly secured mansion—to no avail.

But Hana wasn't a burglar, and she wasn't trying to break into any mansion.

Hana was _only_ about to shoot the head butler.

She stopped short as the wind slowed, waiting for it to howl again to move. She had been carefully circling the Priman mansion for the past ten minutes, dodging the many cameras and the monitoring devices hidden in unlikely places. But she was lucky, because she didn't need to worry about making noise; the wind was naturally concealing her as it rustled the leaves. No one would distinguish the noise of a single girl occasionally brushing a leave from the sighs of the wind in the trees.

As soon as a gush of wind hit her, she moved on, avoiding a camera stuck on top of a tall oak branch. The blueprints of the mansion came in handy there; Hana had integrated them in Sae's analyzer, and each device was yet another red dot on the map, on Sae's transparent blue screen. It sure was easier to follow Sae than check for any device herself.

After five more minutes of strategic positioning, Hana jumped up in a tree for a view from a tall height. There, she leaped from tree to tree, cautiously landing on the branches so to not shake them. She wasn't as silent as Killua—he made no noise at all, and she had to admit it was both impressive and creepy because turning around to find him without ever hearing him entering a room was a lot like meeting a ghost—but she was skilled in the art of camouflage. After all, she _had_ managed to break in the Standford Luxury building to arrest the insane Dr. Philphil, even though it was supposedly one of the most secured buildings in Megamshill. She had all reasons to be confident in her skills.

… and yet she was worried. Stressed. Anxious. She had inherited her father's constant second-guessing, his turbulent nervousness, and yet her father's heritage wasn't entirely to blame here.

She was also scared of failing Killua.

She craned her neck, looking past the green patches of leaves to find an adequate spot. She had to be in a shooting range while the butler was on his way to the underground telegraph. Then only, she would be able to shoot him with Sae's Analyzer darts; Sae couldn't analyze living beings, but that didn't mean living beings couldn't be vectors for analyzing. If the butler carried the dart with him, Hana would be able to analyze the electrical impulsions he sent thanks to his telegraph, and thus recreate the message.

However, she had to see him for that to happen, through the scope of her rifle. A flawless positioning was necessary. The mansion was surrounded by high walls that covered everything except the top floor and the one just blow. That meant she had two floors out of four to shoot him through. During the day, sentinels walked through the corridors to look out for any sniper, and Arashi Kareha-Priman rarely walked alone through the corridors that were exposed. A necessity for a family whose life insurance was worth more than ten lifetimes of minimum wage.

Killua had told her he would try to lure the butler to the third floor, where Eugene's working room was located. He would pretend to need to examine it, and, obviously, the snooping butler would 'bring tea' to him and Arashi while they talked. The butler would thus be in the corridor leading to the workroom for about two minutes. To make things easier—of course—sentinels were patrolling and pillars of stone barred the open corridor every two meters. That gave her about three seconds of exposure every two meters. With random maids and sentinels strolling here and there.

That was going to be challenging. Hadn't she been so stressed, she'd have been eager to test her skills.

She took a deep breath. She checked then that her earpiece was still in place, that her rifle was still fastened to her back. And leaped, again. Toward the highest branch, behind thick coats of green. She quickly hung to the trunk for support, took her rifle and peered through the scope.

She was perfectly positioned. She had the west corridor in her range. She would only need to zoom in and pick the right time.

Slowly, she knelt on the branch, adjusting the rifle on her shoulder, testing her hold.

She pressed her earpiece then. "Ready," she whispered, to Killua.

A second later, she heard the noise of the wind in the earpiece. "Wooh, it actually works," he replied. Then, he cleared his throat and took a particularly serious voice. "Received."

She rolled her eyes. "You don't actually have to say that."

"Shh. I'm a special agent."

"You're more badass than any special agent, you don't need to act like one."

"… That's the nicest thing you've ever told me."

She made a non-committal noise. "How's the situation?"

"I'm still on my way. In about ten minutes I'll be within hearing range so I'll have to stop talking."

"At last."

"Whatever, you'd die to hear my voice forever. Whispering scandalous things to you."

"God, it's not the moment to flirt," she whisper-shouted. "I'm almost dying from stress, don't make me dumb on top of that."

She didn't hear his footsteps, but she somehow knew he had stopped walking. "Why stress?"

She sighed. She hadn't wanted to let that out. "I don't want to fail."

"It will be alright," Killua said, as he had said the night before, after she showed him the rifle and explained the complications she could sustain.

"You don't get it. It's been so long since I actively worked in a real team. And this rifle… I haven't gotten to use it in a mission yet. I've had to rebuild it twice because my tests failed. It exploded when I tried to shoot the first times."

"Except it worked yesterday."

"Today isn't yesterday."

"Okay, okay. What's our worst case scenario?"

"I lose the rifle and have to rebuild it, and I have to infiltrate the mansion instead of working from afar," she explained. "That would take time."

"Sounds like an okay case scenario. You'll be alright. And if you fail, then what? We'll have other opportunities. He doesn't communicate with those assholes only once per day."

She shifted uncomfortably. "I don't want to fail."

"You won't fail. And I'm not saying that to be nice. You'll be fine. I wouldn't have trusted you with such an important mission if I wasn't sure you'd be fine."

She rested her back on the trunk. "Alright."

He remained silent, as though to gauge whether or not she really was alright. "Okay, let's repeat the plan again," he finally said. Much to her relief. "I go in, mention Elias, and the guy goes your way to snitch like the idiot he is. You shoot him. You record all the data about his communication. He comes back to take the tea."

"Yes. Then you swiftly take the dart that's hit him. I'll be using In to conceal it, so as soon as he's with you, I'll release the In and let you take the dart."

"Perfect. He won't see a thing."

"How fast can you take the dart?"

"Lightning fast. Not even kidding," he assured. "So, you feel better?"

"Kinda," she hesitated. "I just hope the bullet I'll shoot will effectively morph into a dart. It should do that midway through its trajectory. If it doesn't turn into a dart, it could hurt him more than necessary. I've designed it so he doesn't feel a thing, but I'm worried that… it won't work."

"That will suit him right then. That snitching asshole."

"Killua," she scolded. "I can't let that happen."

"And it _won't_ happen. I asked you to shoot me yesterday. And it worked. I almost didn't feel a thing. Barely a mosquito bite."

"Almost."

"Are you really comparing me to that guy?" he said, feigning to be offended. "He's not smart enough to catch the bait I laid for him and you expect him to feel what _I_ nearly missed?"

She had to admit he was convincing. "Alright."

"Good." And a second later, after a short silence: "You're not a burden. Whatever you're brewing in your head. You're not a hindrance. You do help. A lot."

Her breath caught. She nodded, as though somehow he could see her. "Thank you. I feel better."

He waited a moment. "I'll have to stop talking soon. I leave the sound on. Get ready as soon as you hear 'Elias' because he'll be rushing out."

"Okay."

He fell silent then. Minutes passed, during which she expectantly waited for him to reach the portal to the mansion, her stress a sizzling ball in her throat. She hadn't worked in teams in so long, and she had always feared it after Feri's death. The responsibility, the expectations. She had forgotten how it felt. She wondered how she had ever liked it.

"Hana?" he suddenly called, and she flinched.

"Yeah?"

"We need code names."

She blinked, struck with disbelief. "We need _what_?"

"Code names. You know, like Giraffe and Elephant, or Alpha and Beta and so. Like in the movies."

"You're _not_ calling me Giraffe," she hissed.

"What about Hanaconda then?"

She let out a strangled noise, the failed result of her attempts to stifle a laugh. "You're not calling me Hanaconda either."

"It's cool though."

"How about I call you Killuannoying?"

"No. I need something cooler."

"Killualpaca?"

"I'm not a fucking alpaca," he muttered.

"And I'm not a fucking anaconda."

A moment of silence, then two quiet chuckles. "You know what? I like it. Killualpaca." The wind covered his next words. "—portal."

"What?"

"I've nearly reached the portal."

That meant he had to stop talking. "See you soon, Killualpaca."

"Yeah, Hanaconda."

He really stopped talking then. Not so long after that, a screeching voice rose from the earpiece, soon followed by the voice of the butler altered by the intercom. She tensed up, listening to Killua announcing his presence to the butler. "I have a meeting with Mrs. Kareha-Priman in five minutes," he said to the intercom.

The portal opened, the grating noise exaggerated by the earpiece. She cringed. "Thank you for waiting. A butler will be expecting you at the main gate," the butler said.

She started counting then. Killua had said ten minutes. Ten minutes during which she had nothing to do but get ready to shoot a man he had described as 'short, blond, with a stoic expression and brown eyes'. The only distinguishing feature about him being a beauty spot on his left cheek and faint wrinkles around the mouth with crow's feet. Killua had also said he had a very faint limp, surely due to an injury that had badly healed a long time ago, but it was so faint he could hide it easily.

(But not to Killua.)

She relaxed as she thought about him. She tended to forget that the responsibility was shared in a team, that she wasn't working alone. Killua was here too and he was reliable. She had his support. She had avoided teaming up with anyone after Feri's death, convinced that she was no good for her teammates. Working with Killua was new to her. It reminded her of those times she treasured teamwork so much, back when she didn't see herself as a walking failure. That was why, when she and Killua had teamed up, an obvious solution for their merging cases, the wild idea that _perhaps_ she wasn't so bad hit her. What if she could help? What if joining forces with her wasn't such a dreadful thing? What if she could learn to trust herself again? The perspective to relearn how to function with someone else was refreshing.

That was why she desperately wanted to succeed this mission, no matter how silly that sounded. She had done harder, she had thrown herself in more dangerous cases, so shooting one lone butler, no matter how challenging the shot, was child play compared to what she had done on her own.

She shifted on the branch, frowning.

Perhaps the person she didn't want to fail was herself, in the end.

* * *

Hana had a few minutes to kill, so she loaded her rifle with four conjured bullets, just in case the first one didn't reach him. But it had to, and it should do so. It just turned out that Hana was a cautious person and there was always a plan B and a plan C and a plan D and D-1-A and D-1-B just in case plan A didn't work. Better safe than sorry.

"A pleasure to meet you again," a feminine voice cut through Hana's focus. _Arashi_ , she realized, startled by the velvet of her voice and the grace of her words. _If calligraphy has a voice, it has to be hers._

"The pleasure is mine," Killua replied. Just as poised, just as polished. A new Killua she had never seen; the polite and professional crime hunter. The even rhythm of his voice transpired confidence. Yet another breach in her focus.

(She was so, _so_ weak for confident Killua. She could picture the glint of controlled power in his eyes, his tall stature and broad shoulders, his elegant gait highlighting the grace of his movements…

… Nope. Not a good idea. Focus, Hana, _focus_.)

Killua and Arashi went on about small courtesies and factual conversations. She invited him in, and he told her he wanted to look through Eugene Priman's stuff in his office to find something. Hana didn't hear the butler, but she was certain he had to be lurking somewhere near Arashi, a shadow observing the conversation.

"Did you find something?" Arashi then said, after what Hana had counted to be thirty-three steps in the stairs—Arashi's shoes made the unmistakable sound of wood on carpeted floors. They were on the third floor.

"I did, actually," Killua replied. "I'm not entirely sure, but a treasure hunter was indirectly implicated in your husband's abduction. He had sold weapons to the kidnapper—whom I still have to find." He had withheld Mulgrad's role. "The hunter is a man named Elias Galivanos."

 _There._

The tension was back in her muscles. She didn't hear Arashi's reply; all she heard were the quiet words from the butler, who excused himself to supposedly bring some tea.

She grabbed her rifle then, and repositioned it after balancing herself on the branch, the butt steadied on her shoulder, the cold surface of the stock against her cheek. Her left hand held the pistol while her right hand clasped the handgrip. She looked straight in the scope, closing her left eye. And she waited.

Her stress died out then, mere fuel for her intense focus, the last embers of her anxiety extinguished as she took control of the situation. The voices faded away. The howls of the winds ceased. The distant chirping of little birds disappeared. Only her regular breathing remained, her even heartbeats, _herself_. And the cold-blooded focus.

 _That_ was her mother's heritage. The thick quietness once she delved into a mission, the sheer rightness of this cold blood seeping in her veins as soon as she had aimed with her rifle. She was _working_ then, a confident agent on the field and not an overstressed newly-teamed girl anymore.

The butler appeared then, in the corridor. She didn't jolt, didn't budge, didn't twitch. She merely followed him with her scope, mentally checking the features Killua had listed. Blond hair, check. Crow's feet, check. Beauty spot, check. And the discrete limp, barely even here. Check.

She prepared to shoot, keeping him in her sight. He appeared through the open window and disappeared. Appeared, disappeared. Walked behind two maids laughing together. Between two sentinels sharing an apple and nonchalantly supporting the butt of their rifles. He was about ten steps from going back inside.

But she waited anyway. For the perfect opportunity, the best shot. The one shot she knew she could perfectly make, the shot a sharpshooter like her would never miss.

And it was offered to her.

The butler walked, for a second, in front of an open window. No maid, no sentinel, not even a bird stood between the bullet and the butler.

In that moment, Hana knew she wouldn't miss the shot.

She shot.

The bullet seared through the air, invisible with In. An immense awareness overwhelmed her then. An awareness that murmured things she couldn't know, things she shouldn't know. A certainty that her bullet had indeed morphed into a dart, that it was ten meters, then five, then two, then one, then _none_ from the butler.

A tenth of a second later, the butler had gone inside.

Air rushed in her lungs. She conjured Sae's screen next to her, her fingers flying on the screen as she set up the options.

And it appeared. The data. The analysis of the humidity and luminosity and height and depth and so many more options that fluctuated as the butler moved from room to room.

She had succeeded.

She allowed herself a sigh of relief as she sat on the branch, the surge of confidence rushing away, leaving her with a longing for that power. But her relief was short-lived because she still had to find the location of Elias's cell. She quickly examined the data displayed on the screen.

The butler was still going through a luminous, ground-level room. He went on like this for a few minutes, engulfing deeper in the mansion. Suddenly, the luminosity dropped, the height lowering beneath ground level.

The underground passage.

The rest happened terribly fast. Sae recorded a high electric activity and little to no luminosity. Her Morse translator displayed the message the butler was sending.

(Sae may not be able to analyze living things, but that was a sensible sacrifice when she was that useful at multitasking.)

Hana's eyes coursed over the messages that buffered on the screen.

 _Target here._

 _Knows object._

 _Move._

 _Suspicious._

Succinct and straight to the point.

Then, one last, important message was sent:

 _Hop to CMSH-MTN-Q84-REF7455614XC._

 _End._

She frowned, saving the messages to Sae's internal memory, her eyes riveted on the second to last message. The location. The different parts of the code had to divide the city in small fractions, a needed organization to hop a message to its destination. All they had to do was find which fraction corresponded to which area and divide the code until they found where Elias was being kept.

There it was. She had found everything she needed.

A sigh escaped her, to her own surprise. She stared at Sae, watching the data still varying accordingly to the butler's pace—he was now back to the light.

She tried to put words on the excitement and the joy she felt while the data became normal again.

 _Fun._

She had had fun.

And that was an unexpected realization.

"There is some information I will have to withhold from you. For your own safety," Killua's voice interrupted her thoughts.

"I understand, yes. I suppose examining my husband's room wasn't your only motivation."

"Not entirely. I do have a few questions to ask you."

She didn't listen to the rest. All she did was removing the In on the dart as soon as the butler came back. She trusted Killua to know what to do. Staying near the mansion now that her mission was over was an unnecessary risk, no matter how perfect her cover was.

So, she jumped away, still careful about the cameras—how dumb would it be to come all this way only to be caught then? She only stopped running when she reached her car, safely parked in a shadowy patch of forest, far from any camera.

Then, she drove away. To the Balia neighborhood, where she would wait for Killua at the Bronze Stag statue.

And she repeated the one fact she had to remember.

She had succeeded.

* * *

He found her sitting at the Bronze Stag's feet, both legs extended in front of her. There was no one around—hence her nonchalant posture. Her features had relaxed in a way that suggested her mission had been a success. Which, he had to admit, reassured him a great deal. He had never doubted her abilities—he had seen her nen, her _Ren_ — and he had never thought it would be any other way. But a solid success was definitely a positive boost for her poor self-esteem, and he was so, so thankful for it.

(Besides, he figured working with someone of her level was better than working with someone unable to keep up with him. At least he wouldn't have to slow down too much.)

She turned her head in his direction, and her face brightened up. Seeing her grin felt a lot like breathing—which was strange because just the night before, she had left him breathless with want.

He sidled up to her and she jumped to her feet. "I did it!" she said. "I've got the location, the map to the underground, the messages sent to the enemy, everything."

He couldn't help it. He grinned back. A wide, goofy grin. "I told you, you wouldn't fail. I'm _always_ right."

"You are! I can't even think of anything snarky to say because, wow, at long last I'm doing something _right_. The rifle worked, and Sae is getting improved, and it just feels like I'm stepping in a patch of sunlight because my ability is getting better! I just, I could, I…" She trailed off, blinking. "I loved working with you."

He chuckled. "Woah. Thanks. That's nice to hear."

"No, no, you don't get it. You're such a fast-thinker and those plans were so good and it reassured me so much and you relieved me from a lot of stress and you're so reliable and confident and solid, and, and… and I kinda want to hug you right now but I'm holding myself back because I don't want to embarrass you."

He opened his arms, entranced by her excitement and her joy. "Come here, you _big baby_."

And she did—after an adorable huge smile. She rushed in his arms, her heart a wild thing against his, her body flush with her colorful mirth. "You did great," he said in her ear, melting against her, holding her until her elation faded to a comfortable silence.

She broke the hug then, her cheeks still rosy—from emotions or from their touch, he couldn't tell. "I was so badass. You should have seen me. I shot him straight in the shoulder and he didn't even twitch. I had forgotten I could be that badass."

"Yeah, I was often told I bring the best in people."

"You do!"

He sighed. "Stop complimenting me. I might think you actually like me."

"You prefer when I insult you? Does it turn you on? I had no idea you were kinky."

"Hana."

She batted her eyelashes. "And oh, oh, oh. When you were talking to that woman, oh my _God_ you sounded so hot. You're making me wonder if I don't have some sort of kink for professional and confident guys."

He put his arms around her shoulders, bringing her close as they started walking out of the park. "We'll have all time to explore your kinks together, but for now, let's eat something because all this acting got me hungry."

"Where?"

He leaned in her ear, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Wherever it may please you," he said, deliberately using his poised voice, the one he only used with clients.

He felt her shiver. "What did I say about making me dumb?"

He pouted. "The mission is over. You don't need that brain anymore."

"We still have to save Elias."

"Who cares about that idiot."

She rolled her eyes. "We didn't come all this way to abandon him. We gotta save Elias."

He scoffed. "That sounds like the title of a movie. 'Saving Elias.'"

"… I never thought about that. And I'm supposed to be the dorky one." She glanced at him. "I'm having a bad influence on you."

He extended his arm in front of him like a performer would to an audience. " _Saving Elias_. A heartwarming story about two hot and incredibly kind hunters working together to save the poor idiot Elias. Now in theaters. Warning: content may not be suitable for all audiences. Rated PG-13 for hideous levels of idiocy and tendency to get in people's pants."

"You sound like you liked that guy," she mused. "I hope he's pretty, at least."

"His only saving quality."

"Oh, so you _do_ admit he's pretty. How pretty?"

He tried to remember Elias's face, still walking with his arm around her shoulders. He pictured the laughing glint in Elias's olive eyes, the gold halo in his irises, the finesse of his features. His tousled black hair and golden skin. His taut muscles and towering height. And his stubble—a perfect addition to the already perfect portrait. "He's not bad-looking."

"You're so digging him."

"I have higher standards than idiot treasure hunters."

"Ah, high standards. How high? High, high high, or Hana high?" she teased.

"Killua high. The highest." He tapped his chest. "Gotta kiss myself, I'm so pretty."

She laughed. "I do have the worst influence on you."

They walked through the park for ten more minutes, reminiscing the interesting moments of their mission. Her favorite moment was obviously shooting that guy—the girl liked shooting stuff, apparently— but his was most definitely finding codenames. Killualpaca wasn't exactly the badass codename he had hoped for but it made for a decent inside joke, along with the ridiculous Hanaconda he had come up with.

(Something told him they would keep using those a lot.)

Suddenly, something changed in the air. A presence. Surreptitious, faint, swift. A whisper in the leaves, a breeze in the trees.

His blood grew cold. He veered toward the presence he had felt, taking long strides toward it, ignoring Hana's surprised questions.

Then he saw it, on a bench near the exit of the park. And it all made sense.

He stopped short in his tracks.

"Killua?" she called him, alerted by the edge in his face. He had grown stiff.

She followed his gaze then.

He slowly neared the bench, bending to take the card and read it. A way too familiar kind of card, one he had seen just a few days ago.

 _Killua,_

 _E.F. will be hosting a party on Sunday, May 3_ _rd_ _, late at night. He will require more men to watch over him and his wife that night._

 _It will be the perfect time to save Elias._

 _Your friend,_

 _Charybdis._

* * *

A/N: Wooh! It's done! Woah! *more confetti*

Okay, I honestly think Charybdis is a bit creepy. I'm impatient to reveal who they are because the whole card sending stuff is kinda creepy lol.

Also, yeah! Now you know why this chapter has such a silly name. I could have given it a badass title that talks about, idk, Hana's worries, her chances to trust herself, the whole spies-spying-on-spies-spying-on-spies situation (Charybdis spies on Hana and Killua who spy on that butler who spies on Arashi…) but NOPE I wanted that title.

What did you think about the chapter? Did you like it? **Please tell me what you thought** ;) I love hearing your thoughts. Your reviews are so motivating and inspiring. There's a very wise saying that says (haha) "a review a day keeps the writer's block away" (it exists, trust me) (no really) and it's a real thing. Yeah.

All jokes aside, us authors thrive on our readers' response, so even if it's just a few words, it counts. It's important that I don't give up on writing but it's **also important that readers support a story they like** , or so I think. We authors get discouraged all the time and we have a ton of insecurities and about half of them would be solved if we received regular support from our readers.

So thank you in advance to those who take some time to help us!

Anyway, next chapter is called **Team Mayhem (pt.1)** and it's, as the title suggests, cut in two parts! Read below for a little excerpt of it.

Until then, bye and have a nice week! I wish you all the best!

* * *

" _You look scary," Killua's voice interrupted her. She darted her gaze toward him, narrowing her eyes to see him in the dark. He was sashaying toward her, hands in his pockets, eyes glowing with their usual sharpness. When her eyes adjusted better to the darkness, she noted he was dressed in all-black, his solution for camouflage. And a delicious eye-candy. She had never seen him wear all black—not that she wanted him to; colors looked so good on him—but there was something incredibly sexy about it. It made him look taller, stronger, dangerous._

 _He stopped when he was next to her, his combat boots barely a meter from her own, crossed arms mirroring her posture. "Or not," he corrected, taking a better look at her. "Khaki cargo pants and a black tank top? You look like Kim Possible."_

 _She cracked a smile. "And what are you? A Dark Knight, clad in all black, rescuing the poor prince slash damsel in distress Elias?"_

" _Nah. He's certainly not a prince. But I like the sound of Dark Knight. Makes me sound badass."_

" _Like Batman, kinda."_

" _So we've got Batman and Kim Possible teaming up to save… a loser."_

" _A fantastic team, ready to wreak havoc to save the poor Elias." She crossed her arms. "The Team Mayhem."_

 _He pointed a finger toward her. "Prepare for trouble."_

" _And make it double!"_


	18. Team Mayhem (part 1)

**A/N:** Hi guys! How have you been? Hope you're ready for the beginning of Elias's rescue mission!

Okay, **some news** :

 **\- Chapter 21 is almost ready**! I just need to write the beginnings of a few scenes and it's done! I think you'll like it. But…

\- I think you'll like chapter 22 even more. Hehe. Hehehe. I'm working on it at the same time and it's pretty fun. hehehehe.

\- The most adorable **Hei17** drew more amazing drawings of Hana (including Hana as Kim Possible, which is exactly the theme of this chapter!)! Hei, I'm in awe at all your beautiful gifts and I honestly can't even find the words to thank you! I feel like 'thank you' isn't even enough ;-; *hugs tight* Please check Hei17's amazing art! The links are on my profile!

Here you go! I know I'm being slow at writing new chapters, sorry about that. I need time and motivation and lately college and exams have been getting the best of me. I hope I can still work to provide regular updates and consistent content, but **I'll need your support** for that.

Okay… um, on the random side, this Halloween update in Pokemon GO is amazing! I got Raichu, Hypno and Kabutops thanks to it! I'm trying to make the most of it, since I know winter is coming soon and I don't think I'll be going out that much when it does lol.

Anyway, I'm gonna **thank you** all for your favs, follows, hits and **especially for your reviews**! Reviews are my life energy so you reviewers are giving me life. Thank you all so much for sticking with me! I love you all!

 **To the sweet guest who reviewed last chapter:** Thank you so much for your review! I'm really glad you liked the chapter and I'm so glad you noticed how comfortable Hana and Killua are getting! I hope whatever you were studying for went well ahh _I'm with you_! *hugs tight*

I'm going to end this A/N with **a little fic rec** : if you're looking for an original, imaginative, creative, balanced and unconventional fic, then you should read **the angel bite** by _ephelid_! It's a story told from Silva's point of view, centered around the Zoaldyecks and Kuroro. It's unlike anything I've read, beautifully written and filled with original ideas. Go read it and give it some love ;)

Okay I'm gonna stop talking now! Enjoy the chapter and let me know what you thought! ;)

* * *

Chapter 17: **Team Mayhem (pt.1)**

* * *

 **1:15 P.M.**

 _Killua,_

 _E.F. will be hosting a party on Sunday, May 3_ _rd_ _, late at night. He will require more men to watch over him and his wife that night._

 _It will be the perfect time to rescue Elias._

 _Your friend,_

 _Charybdis._

He read and reread the card as though staring would reveal some hidden hint he had not previously seen. He was so focused he didn't even smell anymore the takeout burgers they had ordered on their way to her apartment. Which was a lot to say, because he was starving.

But there was nothing hidden. This was all there was, and it was already too much to handle. Their unknown ally striking again with yet another questionable piece of info. The perfect timing suggesting dutiful and creepily accurate _stalking_. The lack of hint from the neutral handwriting and lack of pen pressure that showed nothing but the obvious—a meticulous, calm, and well-prepared person.

He leaned back in his seat, watching intently the card.

"This could be a hoax," Hana said, munching on her burger. He considered her remark, eyes still riveted on the card. "Some kind of trap set by Faem himself."

"Perhaps," he absent-mindedly said. Still without looking at her, he slapped her hand away as she tried to steal one of his fries. She made a hissing sound—she was clearly going to try again later.

(She had her own fries, but it was so much better to steal his, apparently.)

"It's easy to verify. A party like Faem's can't go unnoticed," she continued. Her hand hovered dangerously close to his fries.

"Hm. The thing is, with or without Charybdis' help, we'd have found that. We'd have struck on the party day because that's the safest way. What makes me wary is—" More hand-slapping, more hissing. "— I feel like Charybdis reached for us to make a statement."

"Either 'you can count or me' or 'I know where you are and who you frequent'."

He frowned. "Precisely. They must know, somehow, that you and I are on the same team."

Her hand stopped midair, right in the process of picking one of his fries. (All this time spent with Hana had taught Killua one thing: being annoyingly persistent and persistently annoying was Hana's second nature.) "Is that what makes you so worried? That they might know about me?"

He rose his eyes to meet hers, saw the edge that transpired in her voice. "Partly. The other part being that the presence I felt was too faint to be tracked. Whoever Charybdis is, we should hope they're our ally. We don't want someone who can stalk us so freely on the enemy side."

She remained silent.

And she lunged for his fries. This time, she succeeded. A proud fries-thief munching on her victorious reward. He arched an eyebrow at the satisfaction on her face, a mere result of pettiness.

And he stole two of her fries. The first to get back at her, and the second because he was just as petty as she was.

She simply watched him with amusement. "Okay, assuming we can trust that creepy stalker ally, we need to lay out a plan. I'll quickly check if Faem does have a party planned. If so, then we take action on May 3rd, right?"

"Yeah. Godspeed will be ready by then. I've had plenty of time to rest."

"What exactly is _Godspeed_ , anyway?"

"A very fast and very cool thing."

She slurped her coke. "Huh. So that fast and cool thing—"

" _Very_ fast and _very_ cool."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever, what does it do?"

"Makes me turn into Sonic the hedgehog."

She raised an eyebrow, giving her best ' _huh uh?_ ' face. Unaware that it was almost a literal statement. Almost. Minus the hedgehog part. "Okay, anyway. Since you're so secretive about it, here's what I found." She put a piece of paper on the table. On it, he recognized her loopy handwriting.

 **CMSH-MTN-Q84-REF7455614XC**

"This is the location the message had to be shipped to," she explained.

"It's precise," he noted. "CMSH refers to Comershill. For the rest, we'll need to make some research. I also think we'll need underground maps of both Megamshill and Comershill, with potential trapdoors to use." He finished his burger. "Ophelia told me she is free again. I'll go ask her for the maps."

"In the meantime, I'll try to find what the code means. And I'll probably check if dear Charybdis isn't lying about the party."

"Sounds fair. We're all set then."

"All set."

"One last thing, though," he said, and she tilted her head.

"Yeah?"

"Stop stealing my fries."

* * *

 **4:45 P.M.**

A little research had helped Hana uncover the second part of the code. While CMSH referred to Comershill, Megamshill's little sister, Hana had found that MTN referred to Matenon, Comershill's equivalent of the Pit—commonly called 'four nine' by Comershill inhabitants, which was both its official numeral classification and a threat. Coming from the 'four nine' was no better than coming from the Pit.

Now, that was nothing surprising. If Matenon was as bad as the Pit, then all sorts of cheery illegal things had to be happening there. Including the abduction and sequestration of a lone treasure hunter.

She stretched her arms, leaning back in her seat. The Hunter website was full of resources about the underground passages in Megamshill and Comershill, but some of the maps were exclusively detained by the HCDS and weren't available in the Hunter Website database. Which was convenient, because Killua was going to see Ophelia, so he would be able to complete whatever Hana found.

She stood up, took a remote controller and switched on the overhead projector. Soon enough, it blasted the full map of Comershill's old underground passages on the white wall perpendicular to the door.

(Her workroom had quite the modern equipment.)

Hands on her hips, she studied the map. She drew the whiteboard so the projection was made on its surface, spinning it to give the clean side without removing Killua's notes on the other side. And then, she sat down.

The map was fifty years old. Needless to say, since then, new corridors had surely been added—underground matters evolved quite fast, since thieves were pretty ingenuous in that field. The Mafia was a giant underground monster gnawing bigger and bigger passages under the city. She scribbled a few quick notes on the whiteboard over the projection of the map, locating the areas she supposed had changed the most—the delimitations of the main city, mainly. However, the map gave a good enough overview of… of how fucked they would be if they didn't figure out a good route to follow. Because there were at least a hundred ways to be cornered in that maze. A thousand dead-ends and a thousand potential different ways to get lost.

She crossed her arms. Somewhere in those passages, a basement was hidden, with Elias's cell in it. And surely a ton of armed soldiers and surveying devices ready to destroy them. She had no trouble imagining a modern infrastructure built underneath Matenon, owned by Faem, furnished with cells for foes who had the gall to come against him.

She sighed. She had to admit she was more reassured, both that Killua would be with her and that she would be with Killua. Because in the first case, he was incredibly reliable and increased their chances of success, and the second, she was with him to make sure he was okay and healthy and… and to protect him if anything happened.

The thought was foolish, but she couldn't help it. He was stronger than her, but he had been sick and wounded, and she didn't want anything happening to him. At least she could cover him and save him the trouble of using too much nen.

 _This Elias better be worth it_ , she thought.

A glance at the clock, then toward her phone, both indicated that she was done with her assigned tasks. She had confirmed that Faem was holding a party, and had found old maps of the underground. Now she had to wait for Killua to complete her puzzle.

Which left her with nothing to do.

She was free to do whatever she wanted.

Whatever she wanted.

…

Well. She couldn't keep delaying her call with Kai.

The thought filled her with stress, a single shivering wave crashing within her. She had to rummage in her strength to find the will to take her phone. But all she did then was staring at it, locking it and unlocking it repeatedly, trying to convince herself to call him.

In the end, she opened the last chat she had had with Killua. 'I'm about to call Kai,' she sent, twiddling her thumbs above the screen. 'I'm like, extra nervous.'

His response came soon enough. 'You know that thing people advise performers to do before a performance? To imagine the judge naked? Yeah, dont do that.'

She chuckled, the knots on her throat already loosening up. Killua's jokes worked wonders on her when she was too stressed—no matter how bad they were. 'I just did and it's all your fault. Telling me to not do something is like an invitation to do it.'

'Well in that case dont imagine me naked, like at all. Really, dont do it. I forbid you. You hear me? Im telling you to not imagine me naked'

'I've never seen you naked so that'd hard anyway. I mean, for all I know, you have a third nipple on your thigh or something.'

'... huh. We have to change that soon. Its so sad to miss out on such an opportunity'

She laughed wholeheartedly. 'You can't be for real.'

'I am and so is my ultra hot body. If you ever need something to brighten your day'

'Okay. Until then, you have a third nipple.'

'You talk big for someone who wouldn't dare touching my abs bc of self-combustion risks. Go call your evil ex you moron'

'Whatever.' She smiled, feeling lighter. 'Thanks for helping me calm down. You're the bomb.'

'Np. Have fun with sweet Kai until I come back'

 _Sweet Kai, huh_. She didn't even need to hear Killua's voice to sense the sarcasm in his words—and the animosity. It reminded her of the face Thomas made every time she told him she had seen Kai, back when they were still together—and she tried so hard to cut ties but never managed to. That face that said 'I'm holding back from kicking some sense in your deluded mind, Hana' and 'why are you even still with him Hana? You said you were going to cut ties last time', topped with 'in what language do I have to tell you he's no good', featuring the good old 'I'm silently judging you and considering the best ways to kill him without you knowing'.

So, yes, nothing nice. But the thing was, Killua's wariness over Kai was different. It held an edge that Thomas or Lynd didn't possess, something corrosive and cutting that was nothing like her mother's objective judgment.

Right.

Jealousy.

There was a jealous edge to Killua's animosity. A blade of jealousy. Sharp and unforgiving.

And that, well, made her feel… guiltily satisfied. She thought of his eyes glowing in the dark, when she had been about to kiss him. The warmth pooling in their blue irises, the dilated pupils ready to swallow her whole.

That same Killua was jealous of Kai.

She switched to her phone's contacts, that last thought fueling a torturous confidence. A hint of her own vanity rekindled by the heady feeling of being desired. Desired by the one person she desired.

That confidence lasted during the whole contact search—opening the page, scrolling to Kai's name, opening his contact details, and hitting the call button.

As soon as the dial echoed in the speakers, that confidence plummeted. A sinking crash leaving her with nervousness as her only company. That, and the constant feeling of making a mistake that never left her.

Her heart was almost as loud as the dial. Robotic sound over wild heartbeats. Once, twice. Thrice.

And it stopped.

"Hello?"

The word nearly made her heart burst. It felt too big to carry, too close to her throat. She swallowed. His kind face immediately flashed in her mind, warm amber eyes and black hair and tan skin and melancholic features stabbing her in the heart, that same pang of remorse she hated each time she thought of him. "Hey," she managed, hoping her anxiety wasn't bleeding in her voice as it was in her chest. "It's me," she added, then cursed herself. Out of all the dumb things she could say, that was a winner.

He stayed silent. "Hana," he said, smooth voice rediscovering her name with curiosity—and a little bit of wonder. "Um, hi."

She opened her mouth. "How are you?"

Another silence. This time thick with surprise. "Good," he tested. There was so much disbelief in his voice, she almost thought he knew the real reason she was calling. "You?"

"Sorta good."

He didn't reply. There, she recognized him. Kai didn't talk unless he was prompted to. Making conversations with him had always confused her, because she was never sure she was annoying him. Now she knew better. He just had nothing to say.

(She suspected he was also dumbstruck because of her attempt to reach out for him. She couldn't blame him. Not really.)

"Okay," she started, struggling to get out of that gluey awkwardness they were both in. "I'm gonna spare you the hypocritical small talk. I'm—I'm not calling you for a nice reason, or to get back in touch, or to argue or whatever. I… I know I'm being a huge hypocrite because I'm the one who let go but…" she choked on her own words. She had no idea how they rushed out of her mouth—that damned straightforwardness that only manifested when she didn't want it to. "I need your help, Kai."

Then, she braced herself.

No hissing sound. No mocking laugh. No 'tch' or 'pft' or 'hmm' or anything. "What do you need?" he simply said, his tone void of any reproach. Not for her lack of contact, not for what had happened between them. Not for her hypocrisy.

She gaped. "Really? You're not mad at me? I never tried to call to know how you were before, and suddenly I'm reaching out because I need help, and you're not mad at me?"

"I could never be mad at you," he said, embers of affection burning slowly in the ashes of their friendship. "I know you'd never contact me unless it's absolutely necessary. So I know how important it is."

Again, no bitterness in his voice. But it stung anyway. The way he spoke of himself. The way he accepted the rejection, the distance, the walls she had placed between them.

The way he was right.

It was her turn to fall silent. The shame pounded in her chest. She felt it seize her throat, a fist pressing on her neck, forcing her mouth shut. But she also felt for him. And hated herself for it. "It's about the Whisper," she finally explained.

He sucked in a breath. The tension laced in his next words said more than he ever would. "What happened?"

She told him everything then. His reappearance in the city, his new victims, his new ability. The amaryllis on his palm. "The flower I had seen on his hand wasn't a hallucination. It was real."

"What flower was it? Could you tell?"

She forced the words out. "An amaryllis." He had surely caught the irony in that situation, because he, too, knew what her name meant. "That's why I wanted to ask for your help," she added. "I think the tattoo could be a cultural attribute, but I've found nothing about it. I couldn't think of anyone more qualified to ask."

"I've never heard of a tattoo like that either, but I could look more into it. Do you have a lead?"

"I was thinking about Tanalean clans. You know what amaryllises mean for Tanalea."

"Yeah. I'll be in Tanalea in two weeks anyway, for work, I'll start looking around then." He hesitated for his next question. "Can you describe the ability? There's a possibility it could be passed from parent to children. That often happens with small remote clans that need to conserve their heritage."

"The tattoo conjures out of his hand." She pictured the petals swirling open on her own hand, coming to life as the stamens curled like tendrils ready to stab her. "The stamens stick inside the victim's chest to inflict the curse. That's all I know about this ability."

"That's specific enough." He scribbled something on a piece of paper. "I'll contact you when I find anything."

(When, not if. Had it been anyone else, she wouldn't have believed it could be that simple.) "Thank you," she breathed. "Really, thank you."

"Don't thank me yet, I haven't started working on it."

A smile brushed her lips. "Tell me if you need anything too."

"Just be safe, that'll be enough for me."

They bid each other goodbye after she thanked him another time and he awkwardly murmured another 'it's okay.' Then, they hung up.

Long minutes after the end of the call, she still felt her head pulse with anxiety and a very familiar discomfort. That call had been a bruise on her mind, his kindness a fist repeatedly punching her. She wished he could hate her, sometimes. She wished he wouldn't be so compliant, so sweet, so understanding. She wished he could make her vehemence feel right.

But he was Kai, and Kai couldn't hate her.

She rubbed her temples, then briefly texted Killua to tell him she had survived—but at what cost. 'He's so nice, I feel like a horrible person next to him,' she said.

His response came shortly. 'okay but you *are* a terrible person tho'

The chuckle that rippled through her soothed a bit of her tension. 'He didn't even question it. Didn't even reproach anything.'

'what reproaches do you think you deserve? Ending an unhealthy relationship? Im gonna tell Thomas youre being irrational again and he will come to kick your ass. Careful, young maiden, I have his number'

'Very convincing,' she smiled a little. 'But I don't know. I mean, I'm the one who said I wanted to cut ties, and yet I'm the one reaching out for him. And he said he could never be mad at me. And that he knew I'd never contact him unless it was important or something. I mean… it hurts.'

'lol. He's a self-pitying bastard and you're falling for his trick. Dude rly.'

'I mean yeah, perhaps he's self-pitying, but there's no *trick*. It's Kai…'

'So? Youre so convinced that hes an innocent puppy you will keep beating yourself over what happened. If the guy wants to help, thats his business. You didnt force him to accept. His decision, his responsibility. Stop thinking that hes a pure being and youre some kind of monster'

'I can't not think about it. It hurts. I feel like I failed somewhere, like I hurt him.'

'duuude,' he started, and typed for a long time. 'You have some serious guilt issues, Hana. Youll beat yourself over smth that was over centuries ago and youll completely forget the hurt you felt too. Suddenly you forget he was toxic for you (no matter how kind he is he wasnt good for you) and that you needed this distance to get over him. Youre like the perfect prey for nostalgia you know. what about the nights you spent crying bc he wouldn't make his mind? And the inadequacy you felt bc of him? the arguments? Confidence issues? Think about that. You just did what you had to do to heal.'

She stared at his reply, biting her lips. He was right in every possible way. If only she could wrap her head around it. 'I wish I didn't have to contact him. I feel like it reopens old scars, things I thought I was over with... It sucks. Makes me wonder if I've ever moved on.'

'I wish you didnt have to contact him either but thats not possible. Whats done is done anyway. We need his help. You did smth hard and scary and you should be proud of yourself, okay? Idk if Ive said this before, but just because you feel bad again for smth doesnt mean you havent moved on. It happens sometimes and that sucks but its part of recovery.' Then an instant later: 'Im soon done w my part of the task, ill come to take care of those old scars of yours, so wait for me. Weve worked really hard so I suggest you stay at my place tonight, okay?'

Her heart lurched. She longed for his embrace, the one place she wanted to be at this moment. Far from the questions and the _'what ifs'_ and the guilt. 'It doesn't bother you?'

'Remind me who made the offer in the first place'

She smiled. 'Okay.' Then, a little later: 'Thank you Killua. I don't know what I'd be without you.'

'Still awesome and kickass. Youd just miss my delightful company. But trust me, youd still be awesome and kickass. You dont need me for that.'

He left for good after that, and she turned back to her maps. She rewound the conversation with him, counting the minutes until he came home.

Only later did she realize her discomfort was long gone, the knot in her throat loose, the anxiety soothed down.

He did work wonders on her.

* * *

 **Sunday, May 3rd**

 **10:02 P.M.**

The highway I-15 was always deserted at night, as it was not the most direct way to go from Megamshill to Comershill. It had once been, decades ago, before the renovation projects sprouted new highways to link Megamshill to its close cities.

But direct or not, the absolute lack of presence and of cameras only made it easier for them. Besides, Killua had said that he had 'something fast' to catch up on the detours they'd take to avoid people. That Godspeed thing, probably.

And so, Hana was standing in the middle of that highway, arms crossed and guns ready and eyebrows knitted together. Because no matter how much she tried, she couldn't avoid reminiscing the plan in a vain hope to explore all the possibilities, all the things that could stop them or make their plan go wrong. She tried to imagine what the underground basement would look like, who they would fight, what kind of facility they would have to break into, what spying device they would have to avoid. There were a thousand ways to fail, and her brain had somehow decided that playing them on repeat would be a good idea.

"You look scary," Killua's voice interrupted her. She darted her gaze toward him, narrowing her eyes to see him in the dark. He was sashaying toward her, hands in his pockets, eyes glowing with their usual sharpness. When her eyes adjusted better to the darkness, she noted he was dressed in all-black, his solution for camouflage. And a delicious eye-candy. She had never seen him wear all black—not that she wanted him to; colors looked so good on him—but there was something incredibly sexy about it. It made him look taller, stronger, _dangerous_.

He stopped when he was next to her, his combat boots barely a meter from her own, crossed arms mirroring her posture. "Or not," he corrected, taking a better look at her. "Khaki cargo pants and black tank top? You look like Kim Possible."

She cracked a smile. "And what are you? A Dark Knight, clad in all black, rescuing the poor prince Elias?"

"Nah. He's certainly not a prince. But I like the sound of Dark Knight. Makes me sound badass."

"Like Batman, kinda."

"So we've got Batman and Kim Possible teaming up to save… a loser."

"A fantastic team, ready to wreak havoc to save the poor Elias." She crossed her arms. "The Team Mayhem."

He pointed a finger at her. "Prepare for trouble."

"And make it double."

They laughed wholeheartedly, and for a moment she forgot that they were _actually_ going to wreak havoc in Erik Faem's hidden quarters. "We should get going," she said. "We're gonna be busy."

He narrowed his eyes, then, leaning in closer to her. "What did you do your eyes?"

"Contacts," she said, flashing a knowing smile. She ran a hand through her ponytail then. "How come you didn't notice that?"

He blinked. "You dyed your hair? Black?"

"Yep. It will go away when I wash my hair. But I figured it could help hide my identity."

"Huh." He tilted his head, peering closer. "Just get sunglasses and you'll look like Kurapika's ridiculous fly disguise."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

"They can still see your features and tell you're a woman."

"I'm aware. But that should be enough. I'll just make sure my face isn't caught by cameras. There are plenty hot tall girls in your contacts who could be teaming up with you."

"That sounds like a spam ad. 'Click here to meet hot tall girls in your area'."

"You nerd." She peered at the highway then, at the dark bismuth stretching until she couldn't see it. "Okay, we're both here and ready to go now. Are you finally gonna tell me how we're getting there? Fast and unnoticed, as you promised?"

He simply smirked. "I guess it's time."

* * *

This is the worst idea you've ever had!" she wailed, arms tightly fastened around his neck. "Worse than sticking your head under a chocolate fountain!"

And for a reason; Killua had just turned into a human storm. A living battery. A breathing giant human-shaped Taser. Perhaps even a Pokémon. And she was in his arms—what a beautiful sentence, she thought— clinging to him and praying to make it alive to Comershill—a much less beautiful sentence.

Killua raised his voice over the sound of the wind. "The chocolate fountain is the best idea I've ever had! Besides, you wanted something fast and unnoticed. Those were your only requirements. You never said convenient."

"I never said safe either and yet I like to think that's a basic requirement!"

"Oh come on, you know you're safe." He tightened his grip on her thighs. He was carrying her bridal style, and in another situation that could have been swoon-worthy, if not for the serpents of electricity all around her. The tiny, reasonably curious part of her brain couldn't help wondering how she hadn't been electrocuted yet, but she was more concerned by the inhumane speed at which they were moving. "It's literally the safest form of transformation you can get. And you know what? It's pollution-free and completely environment-friendly. And it's smoking hot and more comfortable than any car—but I think you've noticed."

She considered biting him for a second, just to be petty and annoying. But she couldn't deny he was right. He was comfortable. And warm. And—his strong arms were better than any safety belt. And she sounded like a deluded middle-schooler contemplating her crush—except the said crush was currently rivaling Pikachu and she wasn't a middle schooler. She was a nineteen-year-old hunter whose brain seemed to flicker between their mission, the overwhelming constant scream in her head, his biceps, and a plausible, scientifically accurate reason to _why she wasn't getting electrocuted_.

(Not that she was complaining; it just didn't make sense. Was it a condition to his nen? Or perhaps it wasn't real electricity? But judging from the currently state of his hair—a Zapdos lookalike that looked nothing like his usual fluffy hair— that wasn't a possibility. So _how_?)

"Shut up," she said instead.

"Wow, now that's a comeback."

"Shut up! We could have gone fast and unnoticed with a car!" she fought.

"Why ride a car when you can ride me?"

"Oh my _God_! Save the flirty jokes for a time when I can think of an answer! You need to save your aura, not waste it beating speed record and terrifying the fuck out of me!"

"I can use Godspeed about two to three more times. That's plenty enough. Besides, I have to practice using it again to train my aura. You'll just have to cover me so I can safely use Godspeed to take us all back to Megamshill, with Elias. A car is trackable and big and slow; they'll have plenty of time to pursue us and we _don't want that_."

She rolled her eyes, and glanced from the corner of her eye at their mapped path on Sae, who had been hovering in front of them since their departure—and going crazy with the locating tool because she had not been designed to respond to _lightning speeds_. And she nuzzled closer to him, hiding in his neck as though it might somehow shield her from the world. Which was funny because at the moment, he was the cause of all her worrying and she really felt like getting back at him for making her go through that. He could have warned her at least, instead of sweeping her off her feet and blasting away in a screech of lightning. She had nearly had a heart-attack at the sight of all this electricity!

Nonetheless, she couldn't deny the sight itself was mesmerizing. The lightning flickering on and off as the sparks snapped and whipped and fused and buzzed. The gradients of white and purple and blue highlighting the finesse of his features, the sharp cut of his sculpted face. The bright glow enveloping them as they moved, the core of a storm beating through them. It all felt part of a surreal painting, some kind of strange futuristic masterpiece featuring an electric boy and his iridescent power tearing through the night. A wild thunderstorm in a young man.

"We'll be in walking distance in two minutes," Killua suddenly said, cutting through her reverie. She watched his lips move, saw the cutout of his cheekbones and the fairness of his eyes and the steel blade of his jaw enhanced by the bright lights. The electricity was pulsing through him. Lightning was in his veins, in his gaze, in the strong grip of his hands on her thighs. "Are you listening?"

She wasn't. "Yes."

He smirked then but didn't say anything.

Exactly two minutes later, Killua stopped Godspeed.

She had expected the impact to be huge, because of all this momentum, but none of that. His movements were always graceful, and he stopped running just as smoothly as he had started. Which was, very smoothly. Killua-smoothly.

When he let her down, her legs were still wobbly. As though the electricity had been coursing through her instead of him. She took a step forward, then two, then stopped and stretched and wriggled her toes in her boots.

"So? You're not dead yet?" he teased, flashing his eternally smug smirk. Looking completely unfazed. The same way he looked when he ate or spoke or broke into a lightning race to save a treasure hunter.

"Not yet. I wouldn't dare. I still have to ruin your life," she mumbled.

"You're doing a pretty bad job with that."

She opened her mouth, watching him walk on. "Did you just say something nice?"

"Why are you always so surprised when I do? I'm a very nice person."

She shot him a wary look but followed him nonetheless. "Nice people don't give people heart attacks. And that's what you nearly gave me."

"You look like you loved it."

"I didn't," she half-lied. Half, because that little—or not so little—thrill she got from the electric journey wasn't enough to overshadow her worry. It was like riding through a perilous rollercoaster—somehow leaving a bittersweet sensation, something between screams and laughs or sore blisters after a fun race.

He pointed toward Sae's little digital clock. "Ten minutes. And I was going slow—both for your sake and mine. We just saved two precious hours thanks to me." He hit his chest. "You should thank me."

"Hmph."

He shrugged, shaking his head. "You're welcome."

She ignored his comment, scanning the surroundings instead. The highway they had taken to come to Comershill split in a fork in front of them. One road led to Comershill East, the other to the city center. A few buildings dotted the area, though there were too few for it to be considered a neighborhood altogether. It was more of a somewhat-almost-suburbs kind of area, the kind of issueless and boring pre-city places.

Matenon was located in the East, as Sae indicated. "It's a twenty-minute walk," she pointed out, her pace picking up to match his own brisk pace.

"Yep. But we won't enter the four nine directly. Let's first go around it; there's a trapdoor that leads exactly where we want to go. We'll find our way in the Underground then."

"Okay."

Comershill at night was a lot quieter than Megamshill. She suspected the city center had to be more active than the suburbs, but there was still an almost eerie silence in the city, thick with shushed secrets and concealed threats. Unlike its sister city, Comershill had had no renovation projects in the past years and the ghosts of the past still lay within the modern infrastructures, the fossils of a rural history. With the technologic advances the Sahelta continent had gone through, a lot of cities had expanded until they gradually gnawed on the rural places, leaving the farmers with no choice but to give up on their farms and either move deeper in the countryside or find jobs in the city.

Ruins of those farms had been hastily hidden by modern progress, but the abandoned fields and collapsing farms were hard to veil, so they stuck out proudly like stubborn soldiers on a ruined battlefield.

"That's the perfect place to shoot a horror movie," Killua said in a low voice, glancing at an abandoned manor peeking through the woods surrounding the road. "I bet there must be some deluded dad contemplating it as the perfect place to bring in his family."

"You'd almost expect a cheap ghost to poke through the trees." The wind hustled in the leaves, as though to prove her right. She bristled, uneasiness seeping through her skin with each gush of wind. "Look out for lone wells or little girls in white dresses."

"Yeah, or the ghost of a vengeful farmer," he replied, nodding at a collapsed farm. "Coming back from the dead to avenge his decadence and ruin technologies."

"Sometimes you'll hear him at the dead of the night, while you're staring at your phone. 'Phones are ruining people. This generation sucks.' He gives you a power cut and sends you spam emails. When he's in a foul mood, he makes your battery explode."

He chuckled. "End technologies. Bring back my pitchfork and my tractor."

"Tractor? Duh, that's too modern. Bring back my huge ox and let me and my wife handpick the veggies and cut the wheat ourselves. Then we donate everything to the Church and die from the plague."

"Ox? Pfft. I'm gonna go hunt. With a spear. Barely dressed in animal fur. I'll bring back some mammoth for dinner. Then we'll use mud to draw stick figures on the wall that will be featured as wonders in a few thousand years."

More shared chuckles. "If we go back far enough in the past, then at some point I'll live my dream and be a dinosaur," she mused. "A majestic, giant T-rex. Beautiful and dangerous. That's so me."

"And I'll be the meteorite that ended you."

"You are so rude, Killua."

"Ouch."

She elbowed him, earning a beautifully mischievous smile. Sometimes she thought she was getting better with her overwhelming feelings for him, but then he smiled and made her realize that she was even deeper than she thought. One thing her mind had understood was that, there was a smile, and there was a Killua smile. The latter made her a little more nebulous each time and unleashed a choir of 'ahh' and 'ohh' and 'holy fuck' and a little of 'I'm ridiculous' and a lot of 'I want to kiss him'.

(That last thought had been recurring a lot. It didn't help much that he had such a kissable mouth. Those damn lips almost always pulled into that obnoxious—and sexy—smirk. Those same lips that whispered 'kiss me' every time they moved.)

"We're almost there," he popped her kiss-filled bubble.

(In that moment, she thanked the years of poker-face-while-thinking-of-uncatholic-things she had under her belt for helping her keep a straight face when the boy she wanted to kiss so bad was talking to her. While she thought about, precisely, kissing him.)

"I'm following you," she replied, focusing on the mission.

The road they had taken finally veered to the right. According to Sae, they had moved even farther from Matenon, but they were closer to the trapdoor they wanted to use.

Killua left the road to engulf in the woods. She trailed him, hunching a little to avoid a twisting branch very nearly aiming for her eye. The grass was lush with the lack of human life, the trapdoor they were using so long forgotten no one had used it in years. It was the safest option to cover their tracks, since no one would be guarding it, and it offered a simple access to the quarters they had to go to.

After a few silent minutes, minutes during which her skull echoed all the noises of the forest, the owl hoots and the cricket cries and the leaves rustling, Killua stopped. He glanced at Sae, and she did the same, rotating the map to show their angle.

"It's here," he whispered. "It _should_ be here."

Narrowing her eyes, she scrutinized the ground for any trace of a trapdoor, of something woody or metallic or, hell, rocky, that could lead to the underground. She placed her foot on a large protruding root, supporting herself on the huge trunk beside her. "Sae can't be wrong. It has to be somewhere in there."

His expression grew thoughtful. The serious one, she noted. "Think of something unexpected. Naturally concealed. Unassuming."

She shot her eyebrows up. Unless grass had grown on top of the trapdoor, she wasn't sure where it could be. There was no rock big enough to hide a door, nothing that could hold a person or—

She widened her eyes. Her gaze met his during a moment of understanding. She saw it dawn on his face, his eye widening in sync with hers.

She gave a tap on the side of the huge tree.

It sounded hollow.

Killua smirked. "Bingo."

* * *

The air was stale underground, an acrid mixture of mold and dust. And yet, it didn't _feel_ dusty. Her throat wasn't burning and their boots had raised no obnoxious cloud of dust when they had landed.

A bright, white light suddenly blazed near her. She clasped her eyes shut, gradually reopening them to get used to the light. And widened her eyes.

There, just in Killua's palm, a ball of electricity pouring light over them.

"Wow."

He smirked, and with a flick of his hand, the little lightning ball hovered higher, lighting the way for them. A crisscrossing line of electricity stayed connected to him, the necessary source for the charges. "A little trick I came up with while looking for a lost child in a forest, in Tanalea. Quite useful when there are no flashlights. Then, when I found her, she was so fascinated she forgot she was scared and stopped crying."

(Killua with kids, her new weakness.)

"I hate to say it, but you're a genius," she said, her eyes following the screeching sparks in the lightning ball.

"I know, I love when you admit it."

Thanks to the lightning ball, Hana scanned the surroundings, her previous assumptions confirmed as she traced the walls. There was not a trace of rot on these surgically clean walls, no a hint of filth on the cables lining the ceiling and the pipes along the walls. They were well below ground level, below tree roots and grass and worms, and yet these passages held a very _human_ touch to them. Very human, and very manufactured touch.

Sae flashed the way to the Quarters 84 as they started walking, their position moving along the path she had designed. There were no cameras at this point. Killua made no sound as he walked, but the sound of her steps was muffled by the constant echo of something far into the tunnels, a void very nearly calling for them in the dark with a ghostly voice.

"What do we do if we meet soldiers?" she found herself asking. She was well aware that there would be guards and soldiers guarding the quarters, including some that might see her face. "I'd rather not have anyone die tonight, or at least, unnecessarily so."

"I'm not a fan of unnecessary killing either," he replied, but he was not saying everything. His words held another meaning, a double-edged sword whose other face was about to fall. "But I don't want them to see you. I'm assuming Elias has a trick to wipe out their memory."

"And if he doesn't? We'll have to kill them? I thought my disguise was enough."

He didn't answer, and that was enough of an answer as it was. "You've never killed before?"

The shadow of a cold memory took over her voice. Of a far too gone criminal whose life she had ended, of a dying victim whose suffering she had stopped. "I have. But I'd rather not do it again. Not when I can avoid it."

"You don't have to do it."

She shot a brief look in his direction. "You're not killing anyone in my name."

"I won't."

"… You're not killing anyone at all, Killua."

"And your cover? You're ready to blow it and ruin our advantage?"

"I don't believe one second that your only concerns are strategic," she scolded. "You're doing the whole 'I'm gonna protect her no matter what' thing again."

"I'm about sure protecting _me_ was half the reason _you_ insisted on coming," he fought back. "Just in case you thought I didn't see your sneaky worry."

"The other half being that this is _also_ my mission and I'm _also_ assigned to this case—by the Police Chief, no less."

He sighed. "What do you suggest then? If Elias has nothing to help us with?"

She frowned, holding his gaze. "Then I'll deal with it like the grown professional hunter that I am." Her gaze softened then, remaining just firm enough to convey her one request: "Please, don't do that. Respect my will. I don't want to be a burden or stay behind to be a secret weapon. My identity being a secret is an advantage but I don't want it to keep me back from the action. I don't want a passive role in this mission. I made sure to cover the most noticeable features, and if we disable the cameras there won't be any footage of my face."

He held her defiant gaze for a moment with that calculating scrutiny of his, the blue of his eyes untroubled and void of any reproach. She bristled inwardly, uncomfortable under his unreadable gaze. Then, he shrugged, and the hint of a smile brushed his lips.

"I wouldn't do anything against your will. I'll let you handle that. We'll just gamble on Elias being useful for once." He glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. "You're fierce in your own way. I love that about you."

A smile flashed through her focus. She hadn't thought a second he would do something she was strongly against, but a part of her was reassured. Besides, if Killua had accepted so easily, that probably meant he was sure they would be fine without any drastic measures—whether that was because he knew Elias had something or because he trusted their abilities. It wasn't so much that she didn't want their enemy to know her identity; it was more that Killua was right when he said it was a strategic advantage. She wouldn't have gone to such lengths to cover her features if she hadn't thought it would be important. "You love all of me," she replied, stealing a glance toward him.

The corner of his lips hitched in a suggestive smile, his gaze remaining fixed in front of him. That same smile, she realized, that _she_ wore every time she refused to confirm or deny his flirty comments, when she wanted to leave him hanging on a torturous thought. A dangerous weapon of seduction—and a taste of her own medicine. It made her feel a bit light-headed, that lazy smirk of his as a sole reply.

"We're almost there," he suddenly said, and her focus immediately veered back to their mission. She followed his gaze. It ended on Sae, on the path they had been following and the dot marking their position.

They were a hundred meters from the grand gate to the Quarters 84.

"Get ready," he started, turning toward her. "I'll take care of any nearing camera."

She nodded just as he left, her fingers sweeping on the screen, programming Sae to use a weapon.

 **Which mode would you like to use?**

 **S**

 **A**

 **E**

She pressed on the 'S'. It had been so long since she had.

 **Shooter mode activated.**

 **Please choose an available version below.**

She hesitated but chose a single gun. She may need to use more aura later and preferred saving it until she gauged the situation.

Her gun conjured in her hand then, and she gripped it with that mixture of nervousness and confidence that always seized her when she was about to go on a mission. The cold surface of the gun felt so right in her palm, so _her_. An extension of her body, of her mind, of her strength. A fifth limb, and a deadly one.

She breathed in. And out.

And in.

And out.

And she joined him.

* * *

 **A/N:** Yayy. They're ready to kick some ass. It's been about time, right? Next chapter you'll see them in action, as a _team_. It was very fun to write :')

Something new about this chapter is that you got a glimpse of Kai's personality. I know he's painted as a bad guy because he's Hana's ex, but trust me, he's not that bad. He just isn't compatible with commitment. On a side note, what Killua said (in his bad texting grammar) about Kai is really important. Listen to Killua and give yourself some rest. Nostalgia is a liar. Sometimes you need to let go of people in order to move forward. That's sad, but that's how it is. You need to make yourself a priority.

Okay, I hope you liked this chapter! Please **let me know what you thought in a review** , it means a lot to me! Even if you think your opinion isn't important, trust me, **it is important to me** and it will mean the world, even if all you say is 'I liked it'.

Next chapter is the second part of this one and there's a lot of action! Also as you can guess, Elias is coming back (never thought this walking meme would become that important smh)! I can't wait to show you lol. You'll find a little preview below, and no, the preview isn't the excerpt I posted on tumblr a few days ago.

…

Because yes, _there's also an excerpt of the next chapter on my tumblr._ Hehe.

I'll see you in two weeks!

Bye and have a nice weekend!

* * *

 _When Killua saw him, he refrained a sigh of relief. Elias was alive, breathing, although wounded. His cell didn't even have the minimum required to live, with the naked ground as his sole bed. However, there was no foul smell in the cells—no urine or vomit._

 _Just blood and sweat._

 _Killua hit the cell bars. "Hey, move," he unceremoniously said._

 _Elias shifted in his cell. In the dim light, Killua saw him frown, the gesture painting gaunt features on his face. He painfully stood up, wobbling on his legs. "You?" he asked, limping to the cell bars. He grabbed them, his hands covered in scratches, his nails still bloody from whatever he had had to sustain._

" _Yeah. We came to take you out of here," Killua said, his eyes stuck on Elias's face. He took in the black eye, the bruise on his cheekbone, the cuts on his face and his hands. There was a distant light in his glassy eyes, like he was barely realizing what was happening._

 _Somehow, it didn't feel right._


	19. Team Mayhem (part 2)

**A/N** : Hi guys! I hope you guys are okay, especially those of you living in the US. I know today is pretty shitty so before I start rambling about the story, let me just say that if you need someone to talk to in those difficult times, **you can always hit me up**. I'll support you the best I can. That goes for everyone, no matter what the issue is.

Okay about the story! First, I got amazing fanarts of Hana by **Madelleinee** and **Hei17** that both left me speechless and giddy and **happy** and made my days so much better! Girls, thank you so, so much. I can never thank you enough. Just the thought that you lend your talent to my little story warms my heart… THANK YOU! *cries* *hugs you very tight*  
To everyone else, please check their beautiful drawings, the links are on my profile! I'm such a blessed author ;-;

Then, **chapter 21 is officially done…** and it's so long that **I cut it in two decent-sized chapters lol**. So now **the story is covered until chapter 22**. Just as a reminder, I teased you a little on how you'd like chapter 22, but since I cut chapter 21 in two chapters, the former chapter 22 became chapter 23… You're still gonna like it though don't worry lol.

Still about the story, I've been planning a lot of stuff. I think you're gonna like the decisions I took lol.

As always, **thank you all so much for your support** , your faves and follows, your hits and especially, _especially_ your reviews.

Anyway, I should stop talking. Below, you'll find my replies to guest reviews ;) I'm just going to end this overlong A/N with a little **fic rec** : check out **Painted Illusions** by _Ephemeral Winter_ , it's REALLY good. It's emotionally challenging, mature, multi-faced and pretty brilliant. I can't help analyzing literally everything about it when I read, especially that the story tackles some issues such as misogyny and sex positivity, which is something I particularly love about it. It's got a swoon-worthy Killua who goes through an awesome emotional development, a caring and adorable Gon, sophisticated writing, and an OC who's going through her self-discovery and abuse recovery journey. (And a puppy. It's got an adorable puppy). Go give it some love! ;)

You can dig in the chapter now!

Enjoy!

* * *

 **Replies to Guest reviews:**

 **Guest:** Hi there! Thank you so much for your review! It made me super happy! I'm really glad you like the way I update ahh, it makes me feel appreciated, thank you so much. I try to offer regular updates even if sometimes I worry that you guys don't have time to keep up with the pace, so your opinion comforts me! Thank you for reading and I hope you stick with me ;)

 **Irem:** Hello! First of all, let me just say that your name is beautiful. I'm so sorry about your geometry exam, geometry is tricky and kind of a bitch to be honest, so don't worry, you're still a boss! Besides you ACED MATH and THAT is BADASS ;) Thank you so much for your lovely review and all the sweet things you said! Your review made me laugh actually, the whole talk about Hanallua grabbing each other's ass was hilarious XD I'm really happy that you want to be a regular reviewer omg! THANK YOU SO MUCH AHH ;A; *hugs tight*

Thanks to both of you for your reviews! I love you!

* * *

Chapter 18: **Team Mayhem, pt.2**

* * *

A pressure on the trigger.

That was all it took to fire the bullet. One simple press of her finger and the mechanism was triggered. The metal firing pin was thrust into the bullet. The explosive charges were ignited in the primer. The powder propellant was kindled by the primer. As it burned, gas accumulated in the back end of the bullet. The pressure grew, grew, _and grew_ , until a split second later, a rippling explosion fired the bullet down the gun barrel, in a trajectory that _she_ designed, at more than three hundred meters per second.

Then, the bullet would land, wherever she wanted it to.

And it always did.

Because she never missed.

She was a sharpshooter and a sharpshooter never missed. A sharpshooter aimed and shot and bent the bullet to their will. Whatever she wanted it to do, it would do it. If she wanted to harm, it would harm. If she wanted to disarm, it would disarm.

If she wanted to kill, it would kill.

Having a death machine right in her palm was a lot of responsibility squeezed inside a small metal trap. But the power she felt—that her bullet could change the course of a mission, that her aim could save and protect those she loved, that her decision could trick life and death—was exhilarating. All it took was a small cylinder of metal searing through the air, a precise aim, a keen knowledge of where to shoot to harm or disarm or kill, of the spots where the death would be fast and painless or those where the victims would live without any consequence. She had it all.

Exhibit one: the soldier who had tried to ambush her.

He dropped his gun with a strangled scream, holding his bleeding hand with his unharmed one. She had shot him close enough to hurt him and render his aim useless, but not deep enough to paralyze his hand or ruin it altogether. It would take some time to heal, but it would heal and he would be able to use his hand as he did before the wound.

The only thing was, it hurt a lot, probably. Or well, not probably. _Surely_. It had to. She knew it. She had been shot before, she knew how much it hurt. So much that you couldn't think of anything but how painful it was. At first, the limb grew numb. A heavy and clumsy thing. Then, the wound got infected and pulsed with pain. Picture the core of a star throbbing around the bullet. Each throb sent a shockwave through your nerves. Soon enough, your entire nerve center was going overdrive.

And then, there was the blood. Before you knew it, it was all red, red everywhere. It oozed and oozed in red trickles, cobwebs of blood mapped around the wound. Eventually, the addition of all that butchery either made you faint or vomit or desperately look for somewhere to sit to sort your thoughts and calm your nausea, depending on how deep in shit you were. Questions hit you one by one, and the worst was probably the panic blaring through your already nebulous head. Where did the bullet go? Did it hit any vital? Any organ? What about internal bleeding? Would it be possible to take it out?

Will you survive?

The soldier Hana had just shot probably knew he would survive. But Hana didn't give him enough time to wonder about all the complications that would ensue because her foot landed on his face right before he could register her features. A second later, he was knocked out on the floor with blood streaming down his broken nose.

She stared at him as he slumped to the ground, her eyes sweeping over him to find any useful item. She spotted a key hanging from his breast pocket and a card in his pants pocket. Squatting, she took them and examined them. The key was a lone one, tied to a simple ring keychain. The badge opened something she wasn't sure of. God knew if she would need it, because with Killua by her side, no electric device, lock or not, stood a chance.

Speaking of Killua, she wasn't sure where he had gone. As soon as they had reached the main gate to the Quarters 84, he had deactivated all the cameras and unlocked all the electronically locked doors within their reach. But the Quarters were huge and while he roamed through the area taking care of soldiers—without using Godspeed, because the boy could be fast without his lightning—she had to find a map of the Quarters.

Which she had found, in the main monitoring room.

Before she was joined by that soldier.

The soldier she had just knocked out was one of the few who had slipped through Killua's cleaning operations. Surely because he had been called to back up the others. The information that two armed individuals had broken into the Quarters had to have spread, especially when one of them was known as Faem's hindrance. A hindrance who just happened to manipulate electricity.

She stood straighter, walking toward the door the soldier had just come out from. She locked the door with the key, then used the badge to add another security lock. The door only led toward more corridors, through which more soldiers would soon proliferate. The locked door wouldn't save her that much time, but it would slow them down long enough for her to take a decision, would an attack happen.

When she was sure the soldier was down for good, she rushed to the devices she had found the map in. Sae conjured by her side then, and Hana transferred the map into Sae thanks to a virtual cable. A useful tool, though Sae didn't have a lot of memory to spare. Not enough to store too much information, at least. But just enough for a map.

She watched as the transfer loaded on Sae's screen until the bar effectively indicated the transfer was complete. The map then launched itself.

Hana was currently in the monitoring room, deactivating various cameras Killua hadn't had access to yet, trapping soldiers in certain areas so they didn't inconvenience them—it was fun, to watch them try to unlock a door she had just locked. Stealing maps. The cells, where Elias had to be, were a long way from there, protected by a maze of corridors surely fraught with traps.

She pressed her earpiece.

"Alpaca?" she said, checking the door on the right of the monitoring room. There were nine screens in front of her, all of them showing the gray interference screens—receptions issues, either caused by Killua's electricity or her manipulations. "I've found a map. Join me in the monitoring room."

A screeching sound died to let Killua's voice be heard. "Received. I'll be there in a minute, Anaconda. How are things in your area?"

She glanced at the soldier. "Calm. Kinda boring. Though I suppose they won't take too long to realize I'm here."

"I'm coming to keep you company soon. Hope you can bear the boredom in the meantime."

"Just hurry up and shut up."

He scoffed in amusement. "I love when you boss me around. It turns me on."

She cut the contact. Her ears were a little too hot for her liking—and it was _all_ his fault.

She walked back, looking for a spot to wait for him. She moved toward the center of the room, scanning it once again. It was shaped like a hexagon, with doors that all led to different corridors on all six sides of it. The south and north doors were bigger and guarded by better security systems, implying that they led to the main parts of the Quarters. Like the cells. The others, as seen on the map, led to smaller corridors, through which the backup soldiers were supposed to come. She inferred the smaller corridors were connected to garrisons, possibly to other quarters that would supply the Quarter 84 with more soldiers.

(The Underground was ironically a perfect example of precise organization…)

In the center of the hexagon, there was the actual monitoring facility. A large pillar rose from the ground to the ceiling, with the nine screens monitoring various parts of the quarters. A board below the screen allowed to control the cameras and the doors.

An idea flashed in her mind.

She narrowed her eyes, staring at the keys on the board. As her eyes rose toward the middle screen, she pressed a button, until the image on the screen flickered toward a camera that hadn't been deactivated yet. Of an empty corridor.

She smiled. If Killua were here, he would have said 'Bingo'.

She pressed the button, her free hand tentatively testing the board. The middle screen flickered again, and again. Showing random parts of the area. None of them satisfied her, so she kept zapping between the available cameras.

Until she stopped on the one picture she wanted.

The cells.

Killua arrived right at this moment, still as ghost-quiet as ever. Had she not been able to tell his presence apart from any other, she would have brandished her gun in his face—and possibly shot him. But fortunately for him, she usually smelt him before she saw him—white musk, always.

(She was starting to worry about how deep she was.)

"Yo, your man is here," he said, approaching her as casually as he would if they were at a café. Except they weren't at a café. They were infiltrating a highly secured and armed underground facility owned by the best liar in Megamshill.

She glanced at him, smiling as she saw the corner of his lips quirk up. "At last."

He crossed his arms, nodding at the slumped form of the soldier she had knocked out. "What's that?"

"Just a minor inconvenience."

He arched an eyebrow but didn't comment on it. "Found anything?"

"Look," she pointed toward the screen. There, cell bars took most of the picture.

"Elias." He narrowed his eyes. "I took care of all the soldiers in the south quarters, but there might be a backup coming soon. You got the map?"

Sae reappeared next to him, with the map on its screen. He examined it. With her finger, she traced the path they had to take—it glowed on the screen. "We take the north door from here, then we find our way through the maze, and Elias is ours."

" _Yours_. I don't want him."

She offered a teasing smile. "We'll see that when we find him."

He rolled his eyes, not bothering himself with a reply. Instead, he started striding toward the north door, the one that led to the cells—after a confusing mess of corridors. When she was sure no one would be taking them by surprise, she turned around and sidled up to him, her gun always ready for a shot in her palm.

As they neared the north door, Killua rose his arm so that his hand hovered near the digital lock on the wall. Sparks started fusing between his fingers when his hand touched the lock, small spasms of electricity flashing all over his hand. A few seconds later, the door opened.

"Not bad," she said, still watching the electricity as it disappeared. They crossed the door together, after a quick check of the area—corridor toward the right, empty, no weapon that could be used against them, no door, one bare lightbulb hanging to the ceiling. "I'm surprised they don't have some security system that locks the whole basement when a high level of electricity is reached."

"If they didn't, then anyone with a Taser would be able to break in." He smirked. "But I'm not a Taser."

"What do you mean? You actually have some control on the voltage you send?"

"I can feel it. I know how the system responds to my nen. If I feel like it's gonna burst, I lower the amount of electricity. It's a sort of prodding kind of method, but it works. It avoids situations where I just blow up the entire place."

She raised her eyebrows. "Impressive. First a spark ball, now this? That's so cool."

"You'll find that I have a lot of cool skills. Not all of them are solely for fighting. I could show you, someday. Some of my best skills are… mind-blowing."

"That sounds suggestive," she muttered.

Another smirk, another smug glance toward her. "Does it?"

"What did I say about frying my brain?"

He feigned to pout. "I know, I know. Not during missions."

"Good."

"And when we're done?"

It was her turn to smirk. "Then you'll see what I've got in store for you."

He opened his mouth but didn't say anything. Then, he faced the path onwards. "You're right. No brain frying during missions."

She chuckled, picking up the pace until they were both jogging. If someone had told her that one day she'd be fooling around during a mission, making bad jokes and flirty comments while infiltrating an enemy basement, she wouldn't have believed them.

And yet.

As they moved around the crisscrossing corridors, guided by Sae's ever-present screen hovering near them, Hana realized that the word 'maze' was too kind to accurately represent what they were going through. It was more of a wannabe Mario level doubled with a Resident Evil kind of background, with metal doors—none of them sporting electric locks—that led to more gray corridors and brutal traps hidden at every corner. But unlike Mario levels, the traps didn't include deadly lava baths or rotating fireballs or cute angry cannon balls; there were more… elaborate traps, in a brute way.

Lasers, for instance.

It was during moments like these that Hana was glad to be a Twister champion. Or perhaps it was her past of Spiderman wannabe—she was six, okay? —that helped her contort herself to avoid the razor-sharp laser beams. But clearly, something was working, because she hadn't been cut in half yet—which was, well, a nice thing. Kinda.

She didn't know if Killua was also a Twister champion, or if as a child he had tried to climb walls pretending to be Spiderman, but he didn't seem to have any issue avoiding the laser beams either. Who knew, perhaps the Zoaldyecks' Twister parties were made above lava pits with laser beams glowing all the place. And crocodiles. _In_ the lava pits.

"You're surviving?" he called, from the right side of the room.

"You think that's what it takes to kill me?" She carefully crawled beneath a particularly low set of beams, then even more carefully lifted her right arm over another beam—that would have fried her butt if she had tried to crawl beneath it.

"I wouldn't dare," he said, through his teeth as he made himself as small as he could—a hard task, when he was over six feet tall with dreamy muscles and a fine as hell ass that she would _definitely_ be staring at, if not for the damned lasers forcing her to eat dust, and, _and_ , oh no, she was wandering again… "Elias better be fucking grateful."

"There's no way we can carry him through this hell." She had enough trouble with herself, she couldn't imagine making someone move along with her. Especially if he fell unconscious.

"There has to be a way to deactivate them from the other side of the room," he speculated. "I'll find a way. Don't worry. Your ass is safe with me. No laser beam will burn it."

"Thanks for caring about my ass. Hopefully you care about me too."

"You're kinda okay," he joked.

She mumbled something as they finally reached the other side. Standing up after crawling through a jungle of lasers was both painful and relieving. The muscles in her legs stretched delightfully.

Killua unlocked the door and let her go through it. She untied her bun when they were out of the room.

After the lasers, a grand experience that left her with the memory of her Twister games dully aching in her limbs and the vague sensation of being a video game heroine, a bunch of sweet tricks were still awaiting them.

Her favorite was the thermosensitive captor that triggered an automatic mini-gun. Running through a whirlpool of bullets was _absolutely_ what she needed. God alone knew how they were unscathed after that.

(She wasn't sure why anyone would think 'mini-gun' was an appropriate name for such a monster-sized weapon. Apparently, it was because of the size of the bullets, but _still_.)

However, the problem was that this captor had also triggered an alarm, which, on top of blaring with a terribly ungraceful noise, would soon rally dozens, if not hundreds, of soldiers.

And the first of them were reaching them.

* * *

The first wave of soldiers crashed on them with fulgurating force. There were about twenty of them—and they were only the first wave. It was to say, Faem didn't do things by half. Those soldiers were so ready it was almost as if they had been expecting them, a mere disruption that could be taken care of within a few seconds, with a little tweak of their formation and their weapons.

But Killua wasn't just a mere disruption. He wasn't the type to be taken care of. And judging from the calm on Hana's face, the steady stance of her legs, the firmness of her wrist as her hand gripped her gun, she wasn't either.

The soldiers were ready, but so were they.

They were the Team Mayhem. They couldn't be stopped.

(Oh boy, he couldn't believe he felt so badass to use that lame excuse of a team name. Either he _really_ was as dorky as Hana claimed or his standards had dangerously dropped.)

Hana was the one to shoot first. One, two, three. One, two three. Within a few second, six soldiers were disarmed, clutching their bloody hands, stepping back to let the armed squads shield them. But Killua didn't give them this opportunity; without using an ounce of nen, he slipped in the shadows and knocked them out, one by one, without ever being seen. The soldiers slumped to the ground as though a wraith had bewitched them, their ranks crumbling because of the side of his hand alone.

It reminded him of his second Hunter Exam, when he had knocked out a thousand applicants within a few minutes, even taking the time to greet Zeppile, an acquaintance of his—before he put him to sleep. Compared to that, the small squad that had been sent was, well, _a mere disruption_.

The only problem was that they kept coming, just as Hana and Killua kept moving. It dawned upon them, then, that the map they had stolen didn't indicate every garrison nestled in those quarters. Some were secret. And in a perfect position to attack them.

Nonetheless, that didn't stop them. With their efforts combined—her disarmingly accurate shot and his disarmingly efficient knockouts— they eventually crossed the corridors and beat all the soldiers coming their way.

Until, at last, they reached it.

A door stripped naked to reveal rows of cells inside. A bare lightbulb serving as the only source of light.

A new squad arrived right at this moment. They shouted orders at each other, the clicks of their weapons resounding along their steps.

"I'm taking care of them," she assured, reloading her gun. "Go take him."

"Roger."

Killua ran inside the cells room, scanning the first row. The cells were all empty, so it didn't take long to reach Elias's.

When Killua saw him, he refrained a sigh of relief. Elias was alive, breathing, although wounded. His cell didn't even have the minimum required to live, with the naked ground as his sole bed. However, there was no foul smell in the cells—no urine or vomit.

Just blood and sweat.

Killua hit the cell bars. "Hey, move," he unceremoniously said.

Elias shifted in his cell. In the dim light, Killua saw him frown, the gesture painting gaunt features on his face. He painfully stood up, wobbling on his legs. "You?" he asked, limping to the cell bars. He grabbed them, his hands covered in scratches, his nails still bloody from whatever he had had to sustain.

"Yeah. We came to take you out of here," Killua said, his eyes stuck on Elias's face. He took in the black eye, the bruise on his cheekbone, the cuts on his face and his hands. There was a distant light in his glassy eyes like he was barely realizing what was happening.

Somehow, it didn't feel right.

"We?" Elias repeated.

Gunshots echoed down the hallway, and Hana appeared a second later. "I've slowed them down, but they've called for backup. We have to go now."

Elias's gaze followed her as she strode closer, a dreamy smile on his lips. "Wow."

"Shh," Killua called, frowning. Perhaps he was wrong. "Step back."

Elias limped back, supporting himself on the wall, as Killua wrapped his hands around the bars and ripped the cage away in a single abrupt move, throwing it aside. "Drastic," Elias tried to comment, though he barely had the energy to stand.

Killua squatted to give him his back. "Climb. I'll carry you."

Hana supported Elias and helped him until he was against Killua's back. He let out a moan of pain when his chest brushed Killua's back—Killua knew that feeling, of rough clothes over a fresh wound. There was no doubt about it: Elias had been tortured.

"They've been ruthless with you," Hana said.

"Who cares. I'm being rescued by two hot people," he laughed through the pain. Killua groaned, abruptly standing up to cut short through Elias's bad jokes, his hands clasping Elias's thighs.

"Stop talking nonsense," he said, though a part of him was relieved Elias still had the energy to joke. "We need to leave this place and disappear in the tunnels. They won't be able to find us there. Hana, you'll have to cover us. Elias, we'll need your help for a little trick."

"A trick," Elias said, just as Hana exited the cell room, stopped near the wall facing them to take cover, away from whoever could enter the corridor.

"We need to erase their memory. You got anything to do that?" Killua asked, joining Hana against the wall. He stayed near her, mapping the area as she got ready to shoot. They needed to cross the corridor and get rid of the witnesses before he could use Godspeed and get them out of there.

A few shouts resonated in the corridor. "They went to see this bastard! Catch them!"

Elias gave a weak groan. "Use this," he said to Hana and threw two bullets he had just conjured. "From the bastard. It should wipe their recent memory without hurting them."

Hana was about to protest when she frowned at the bullets, surely realizing that they were the right caliber. A smirk tugged at Killua's lips. Even in pain, Elias remained a skilled weapon maker.

The soldiers stepped closer, soon followed by the clicking sound of guns ready for use. Anticipation edged on her face, but there was no tension.

Then, in a split second, she had taken aim and shot. Two shouts resounded as the soldiers dropped to the floor. Followed by loud snores.

"They won't remember you when they wake up," Elias assured, but his chest heaved. "You should shoot anyone who saw you."

"We'll do just that," she said. With a flick of her wrist, a screen appeared next to her.

 **Which mode would you like to use?**

 **1\. S**

 **2\. A**

 **3\. E**

Killua frowned as she pressed on the "S".

 **Shooter mode activated.**

 **Please choose an available version below.**

His gaze flew from the screen to her while she picked a picture of two guns, right next to a picture of one gun only. Then, the screen dematerialized and another gun conjured in her other hand.

 _Dual-wielding_ , he thought with wonder, a smile playing on his lips. To take twice as many people.

She leaped in the corridor, shooting the soldiers near them with bullets Elias had conjured. As they fell, she kicked a door that was being opened to knock out the soldier that had been coming. She flipped the door open then and shot the men on the floor. They yelled before slumping in a deep sleep.

"This won't kill them," Elias assured. "They're just gonna sleep for a _looong_ time and forget everything about you."

"A new creation?" Killua asked.

"Yeah. I haven't sold it to anyone just yet." Including the Anonymous—Faem. Which meant they had the advantage.

Another soldier rushed in the room. "They're armed! we need to warn the sup—" he started before Hana shot him in the back.

"They're gonna try to run away and report our position," she said, loading her guns with more of Elias's bullets. They followed to Sae's directions, turning right into an empty room.

"We have to stop them before that," Killua said. "We've knocked out everyone who's seen us on our way, we need to shoot them all before leaving. Can you keep making those bullets?"

Elias was breathing heavily in his ear. "A few more, but sixty's probably my limit."

"They've already called for backup," Hana noted.

Elias jolted. "Cameras," he blurted out. "There are cameras everywhere."

"Killua deactivated them, don't worry."

He winced before flopping back on Killua. "You're smarter than me," he mumbled.

"Like it's hard," Killua deadpanned as he ran behind Hana. She shot the already unconscious bodies on the floor, the ones they had knocked out on their way to Elias's cell, thus ensuring no one would remember them.

"We've got another problem," Hana said, pointing toward the new door facing them. "Starting from this point, there are still traps. We can't cross them with you. We need to deactivate them."

"There's a room where they control the traps," Elias said, trying to move his head. Killua felt his feverish breath near his neck. "It's hidden."

"Can you guide us?" she asked. Sae conjured right next to Elias, who feigned to whistle.

"Nice," he said. He pointed a shaking finger toward an area that wasn't marked on the map. On their right, following the corridor they were in, parallel to the cells. "There are stairs leading to it. I saw them use them. There's a switch on the wall that opens a door to the stairs."

Hana shared a gaze with Killua. When he nodded, she switched options on Sae, pressing the second option.

 **Analyzer mode activated.**

 **Please choose an available version below.**

She selected a picture of a bare hand, the first option available, next to a picture of a scanner, a gun, and a rifle. As she did so, blue lines ran along her arm, glowing on her skin the same blue as Sae's screen. Killua frowned, watching the blue circles on the tip of her fingers.

"What's that?" he asked, giving in to his curiosity. He trusted her to do her thing, but there was something fascinating about the versatile use of her ability.

"The first analyzer I came up with. The origin of my ability." She glided her hand along the wall. As she did so, various information such as the temperature, voltages, and lighting measures displayed on Sae's screen. "This is what I used to understand how a gun worked. It helps me see the structure of an object so I can conjure it more accurately."

"So hot," Elias said, letting out a little laugh—then letting out a little 'ow' as Killua pinched him silent, annoyed by all these comments.

She smiled, glancing at him. Then, she silently worked, testing different parts of the wall. "You'll double-check what I find," she said then, to Killua. "If I'm right, then the electric system will be different around the secret door."

"Count on me."

The distant sound of coordinated steps reached them just as she called him. "I've got something," she said. "The structure is irregular here." She showed a precise spot.

Killua cast a look toward the far end of the corridor. Soldiers would soon be coming.

He sidled up to her, and, as she had asked him, tried to gauge the electricity in the wall. "The electric set up is different here," he confirmed. He jerked his body upward to reposition Elias on his back—who winced as Killua did— one of his hands reaching for the wall, the other still clutching Elias's thigh. As Hana guarded them, Killua tested the pressure on the wall, letting charges run freely along his fingers.

Then, it clicked.

Something responded to his electricity.

He focused on the spot he had found, on the responses his sparks triggered. He suddenly became aware of such a complex electric set up, it was almost too pleasing to play with it. A whole hidden structure beneath his fingers and he was the key that would open it. He was the one who got to mess with it and bend it to his will.

It was exhilarating.

A clicking sound interrupted his thought, followed by the sound of a pump releasing pressure. A door slid upward then.

Hana ran inside, casting a look toward him that warned him to move along.

And for a reason; the steady sound of steps was closer now, and soon the soldiers would know they had found the trap controls. So, Killua rushed in and immediately closed the door behind him.

Just as Elias had said, stairs were awaiting them, taking them even lower in the underground. Killua walked behind Hana, dim white lights shining through the top of the walls.

"You still alive?" Killua said, to Elias, whose unsteady breath was getting worrying.

"For now."

The stairs gave onto a small room filled with spying equipment. A large board took most of the room, with a set of screens above it. In some screens, Killua recognized the rooms with traps they had been through—the hell of lasers and mini-guns.

A desk chair sat in the middle of the room. Killua let Elias sit on it, to let him rest. It had to be straining to hang on someone's back, especially after the wounds he had sustained.

"The monitoring room was a lure, then," Hana deduced. "Or at most a basic monitoring room. This is where the real business happens."

"You gotta be careful," Elias said. "There's always a deeper layer. It's maddening."

"Don't worry about us," Hana said. "We're prepared." She bent over the board, her fingers flying on the board. A few seconds later, the lasers died, the mini-gun was deactivated. She kept going for about five minutes, hovering over the board, testing different buttons.

Meanwhile, Killua looked inside the cabinets for anything remotely useful, but as he had expected, there was nothing proving that Faem was behind this facility. There were just weapons, and gadgets, and—

A photo of him.

He took the folder out of the cabinet, skimming through its content. His eyes scrutinized the photo, trying to make sense of it. It had been taken while he was strolling in the crowd, right after visiting Mag, the day he had caught Ray. He was wearing his dark coat and his gray pants.

But the worst shock came later.

There, among the documents in the folder, a photo of Leorio. Of Maya. Of Mag.

Of Hana.

A sick feeling seized him in the gut, hot like anger and cold like fear. It wasn't like he hadn't expected it—Faem was one of those people who knew everything about everyone. But the reality of it was worse than he had thought. Seeing their faces in an enemy's folder, so dutifully stored away.

It sickened him.

"I'm done," she interrupted him. Her eyes fell on the folder, her eyebrows knitting in a frown. "What's that?"

He nodded toward it, beckoning her to look. He had expected her to gape or widen her eyes, but none of that. She remained impassive, her frown the only hint of her understanding.

"We'll have to look through that," he said. "I'm taking it."

She helped him scour through all the documents then, but all they found was a matching folder for Elias—that they took with them. Nothing about Hana, except that photo in Killua's folder.

The door upstairs unlocked. "They're inside!" a voice said.

"Time to leave," she urged.

Killua hurriedly carried Elias on his back, pressing him to prepare more memory-erasing bullets. Hana loaded them, and just as she finished loading the last bullet, the first soldier stormed in.

She shot him between his eyes. He fell asleep on the stairs, and the other soldiers tripped on his sleeping form. Soon, a confused mass of soldiers tumbled toward them. She shot every single one of them, clearing the way for them as they stepped over the sleeping bodies.

In the corridor, more soldiers awaited, more soldiers fell asleep. They proceeded fast, with Killua unlocking all the doors, Elias conjuring his bullets, and Hana shooting all the soldiers asleep.

They reached the laser room in no time, though nothing apart from the metallic circles in the walls indicated that it had once been a laser room. Without the traps, the facility was easier to cross, and soon enough they had reached the monitoring room.

Elias tightened his grip on Killua's arm, slowly giving in to pain. "I'm gonna pass out in a few minutes," he managed, his voice a bare whisper. He tapped Killua's arm, giving him his last bullets. "That's all I can do."

"Leave it to us," he replied, tossing the bullets to Hana. She loaded them and shot the last soldiers they had already knocked out, including the 'inconvenience' who had tried to ambush her. Then, she went ahead to take care of the last ones.

"Thanks," Elias breathed.

At this moment, Hana cried out. Panic screamed in his mind when a shot resounded next, and he strode onward, toward her, only to find her on her feet with a man sleeping on the floor. She was the one who had shot.

"You okay?"

She nodded. Her shoulder was bleeding. "He used nen. He was stronger than the others. I think a stronger backup is coming. And they will be harder to handle if they are increasingly strong."

Elias's breathing was ragged in Killua's neck. "Elias is out of it. We have to go." A door creaked open behind them. They would soon be surrounded. "Hold on to me, I'll get us out."

She wrapped her arms around his neck while electricity flared around his feet. When he was sure she was clinging to him, he dashed away to the trapdoor, to the tunnels, and on and on until they were so far from the basement that even with a car their pursuers wouldn't be able to find them. During the whole time, she was tense against him, her arms fastened around his neck and her face buried in it.

He only stopped when they reached her apartment. Only then, she dared to put a foot on the floor.

She locked the door as they went in, put a few towels on her bed and told him to lay Elias on them while she brought a small basin with warm water and a towel. When Elias was safe, Killua removed the manacles around his ankles, realizing then why he was limping. There were scars around his ankles. Killua of all people had lived the pain of manacles cutting through skin; he knew what Elias had been through.

"We can't risk calling a doctor," she said, guessing his thoughts when they both discovered the infected wound on his stomach. "It would expose him."

"And us."

"What do we do, then?"

Killua exhaled. "He needs basic nursing; I guess we can do that."

She nodded. They tended to his wounds, wiping away the blood and the sweat from his face and body. Sometimes, his body jolted, pain shooting through his unconsciousness with a wince or a moan. When Hana tried to remove a bracelet that was so tightly fastened around his wrist to clean the blood, he flinched awake for a second, just the time to jerk his hand away from her grip. She left it.

He contracted a fever a few hours later. She tried to make him swallow a pill to break it, but he wasn't cooperative.

When she finally managed to make him drink the pill, they tended to their own wounds—or hers, for that matter.

Then, they sat together in the living room. Silently reenacting what had happened and catching up with the turn of events.

They couldn't do anything more but wait for Elias to wake up.

* * *

 **A/N** : Woohoo, a mission that doesn't go wrong! It happens once every century! Hehe, I hope you liked it. I really enjoyed writing badass Hana, especially that I'm gradually showing you what her ability is like. I feel like it corresponds so well to her personality lol.

Anyway, what did you think about this chapter? **Let me know in a review ;)** I'd love to hear your thoughts! Guest reviews are also welcome hehe.

Oh, and also, shoutout to my sister for practically forcing me to mention her in one of my chapters. Here you go little pie, tu les as tes remerciements.

Next chapter is called Untamed and you learn a lot about Elias. Those of you who like him will be happy because there are two scenes from his point of view—one that is pretty melancholic and one that's just fun lol. Stay tuned for more Elias-ness ;)

Anyway, I'll update in two weeks! I'll try to update on Thursday instead of Wednesday for a special reason lol. Those who know me will understand why.

I'll see you soon! Bye ;)


	20. Untamed

**A/N:** Hey hey hey! (you said it in Bokuto's voice, say it!)

How are you guys? Yay, it's update day. So like, for those wondering why I wanted to update precisely on Thursday, November 24th (because yes, in France, it's already Thursday), well that's… because it's my birthday lol. Happy birthday me! As a present to myself, I'm updating this story to keep me sane in these busy busy days (I have an exam tomorrow, and on Monday, and a project, and a report, and an oral presentation, and… yeah. Trust me, it's hell).

Anyways, I have neither the time nor the motivation to write lately so no new chapters. I did however draw a bunch of OCs, you'll find the link on my profile. When I say a bunch, I mean a bunch of ladies. Hana, Lynd, Ophelia, Maya… They're all drawn and you even have a sneak peek to some OCs I haven't written yet lol. You'll also find a short excerpt of chapter 23 (THE chapter) on the story's blog, in the excerpts tag!

On a side note though, a **big, warm hug to my bestie and her broccoli for reviewing all the chapters as a birthday present**! MERCIIIIIII JE SUIS HEUREUUUUUUSE! ;A; You literally made my day. Every year, you know exactly how to hit me in the heart, I love you so much and I'm so blessed to be friends with you ;-; THANK YOU, FOREVER!

Anyway, as always, thank you for the follows, the favorites, the views and especially the reviews! You guys are the best. Special mention to **killuasgirl** who never fails to brighten my day, you're amazing and I can't thank you enough. Whenever I see you promoting me I feel my heart melt in a puddle of chocolate and that doesn't make sense but it does because I LOVE YOU. LOVE MAKES SENSE.

I'll end this A/N with a fic rec, as usual! Replies to guest reviews are below ;)

So if you guys want to read a lovely fic written in a lovely style with a lovely OC, read _**sunlight in an hourglass**_ by **bonewishes**. It's sweet and realistic and tugs at your heart in the best way. Also props to bonewishes for world building and representation.

Okay, now you can dig in the chapter! Have fun!

* * *

 **Replies to guest reviews:**

 **Irem** : I'm so glad you liked the action! I feel like as soon as there's action people don't like it as much, so it makes me happy! Also glad you liked the dynamics, I worked on that so I'm glad you noticed *A* If you like drama then, not to spoil anything, but I think you'll like the future plans I have lol… and omg your name means such a beautiful thing! A beautiful name to match a sweet personality *hugs* Thank you again for reviewing! You're so sweet!

* * *

Chapter 19: **Untamed**

* * *

 _The sun was high in the sky when Elias decided to sneak out of class._

 _It wasn't the first time he did that, but it wasn't the worst thing he had done. Actually, most teachers were glad when they saw him stand up and saunter out of the classroom; at least, then, it meant they would be able to teach in peace, without a troublemaker to distract the other students. Detention was an empty threat for a boy who didn't care, orders ineffective for a boy to whom authority didn't mean a thing._

 _Thus, all the teachers had been clear on that: whenever Elias Galivanos wanted to go out, they should let him be._

 _So, yes, it wasn't his first time ditching class in the middle of it._

 _But it would be the last._

 _He slowly walked on the edge of the pavement, avoiding the lines and pretending to balance himself on a beam. His feet fit perfectly on the bricks, between the lines, and he thought with startling optimism that one day they wouldn't fit anymore, because he was just fourteen and still growing and he had a whole life waiting to be lived. That potential future hadn't always been conceivable to him—him? Living to be older than fourteen? What a concept! — and that strange surety was a foreign thing to him, a luxury even. Like something fleeting he had once tried to grasp, to no avail, that he was starting to see in the horizon. Still blurry, still alien, but most definitely there._

 _Leaving this village gave him new perspectives._

 _Right. Elias was leaving, and he wasn't coming back. Not then, not ever. He wasn't going to miss anyone, and nobody was going to miss him. Not in a village full of people who didn't want him around. After all these years, that was one thing Elias has figured out: people didn't like him. He was an orphan among others, the bastard son of a Greek father and a Tanalean mother who had loved each other and had loved him but had been gone too son. A foreigner in a village where the old word for 'foreigner' was pronounced the same way as 'barbarian'—and he was lucky; his mother not so much._

 _But it was better that way. At least, he wasn't going to feel homesick. His sole attachments to this godforsaken village lay in the cemetery, but Elias didn't need to be close to be tied to them. The tombs were in his chest and he carried them wherever he went._

 _Perhaps people were right when they said the dead never leave. He used to think people were just spitting half-assed courtesies to him when they said 'they will always be here with you' but they probably weren't wrong. He did feel that his parents were still here, watching him fuck up his own life by behaving like a clown when all he had wanted, once, was to join them somehow._

 _He absent-mindedly rubbed the black bracelet on his wrist._

 _When he finally reached the small orange portal of his school, Elias stopped and looked at the sky. In a few hours, he'd finally be looking at a new portion of sky. An expansion to the map he had drawn in his mind, a new world to walk on. It felt surreal to tell himself that he was about to start a new period of his life, one where there was no hole in his closet to hide his money and his parents' jewels and no tasteless porridge to eat in the morning and no slurs spoken on his way back home._

 _Surreal, yeah. But perhaps the most surreal part was the hope he felt. A hope for a new beginning, and perhaps for something to fill the void in himself, the loneliness his parents had left. A hope for a time where, perhaps, his feet didn't fit between the lines anymore. A hope for, perhaps, a future._

 _Perhaps. Just perhaps._

 _He was aware 'perhaps' wasn't a promise, but it was better than a 'never'. And for the two years that had followed the death of his parents, Elias's life had only been a succession of 'never'. It was refreshing, a little 'perhaps' once in a while._

" _Elias?"_

 _He suddenly turned around, and met with 's wide circular glasses. He stayed silent._

" _So you're leaving."_

 _Elias flinched. He hadn't told anyone he was leaving. How did his school's principal know?_

 _Mr. Oolon sighed. "I didn't think it would come down to this."_

" _I've never liked you," Elias blurted out. He flinched at his own words. That was only half true, but that half was more than enough._ _Mr. Oolon_ _was the only villager who cared about him, but Elias didn't want his sympathy. He didn't want any attachment to this village. "You're always looking where you shouldn't look."_

 _The principal said nothing. He repositioned his glasses on his nose, then sighed, again. "I won't try to stop you. But I want to know why. Ever since you told me you wanted to leave, it's been bothering me."_

" _I never told you."_

" _You did, Elias. You don't remember, but it was me at your bedside, at the hospital. When you were hallucinating."_

 _Again, Elias self-consciously touched his bracelet. He didn't remember his first days at the hospital. Not that he wanted to. "Just leave me be."_

" _Your parents are not coming back,"_ _Mr. Oolon_ _said, his voice gentle but his words terribly harsh. "So what do you want? Vengeance?"_

 _He scoffed. "You think I'm stupid. You're like all of them, you think I'm some brainless idiot who doesn't think anything through."_

" _I don't. And you know that. I know you're smart. Smarter than you suggest. I know you've been planning your escape for months. I've seen you skip lunches and hide your lunch money in your bag. I've seen you work that part-time job at the bakery with Miss Elma." He paused. "I've seen you train with Breakface."_

 _Elias arched an eyebrow. Just how much of his life did_ _Mr. Oolon_ _know? Breakface was the only hunter in their village, and Elias's only friend—though he was rarely present in the village. Breakface was also the one who had found Elias and saved him before he was killed by one of the three mercenaries who had broken into his house. He hadn't been fast enough to save his parents, but he had gotten rid of one of the killers. But even if he hadn't stolen Elias's vengeance, Elias wouldn't have wanted to kill his parents' killers._

 _They had taken all that was left of his parents._

" _So you know, then," Elias replied. "Why do you ask?"_

" _I want to hear it from your mouth, to be sure this is what you want."_

" _You want to mourn me," Elias inferred with amusement. "You think I won't make it. You don't believe in me."_

 _Mr. Oolon_ _moved his cane on the pavement. "Have you seen the figures?"_

" _One in ten thousand makes it to the exam. One every three years passes." He smirked. "I'm well-informed."_

" _Still, you want to try?"_

" _I want to_ succeed _."_

 _Mr. Oolon_ _widened his eyes behind his glasses. And a for a reason: Elias had never said the word 'succeed' for himself. Elias had never wanted to succeed. "Why?" said. "Why so suddenly? What have you found? What will you do?"_

" _Take back what's theirs. Retrieve what was stolen. Honor their work." He stopped. His head felt hot, as if all his determination was gripping it all at once. "I want to be a hunter."_

 _The bewilderment on Mr._ _Oolon's face shrunk to resignation. "Will you ever come back?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper._

" _No."_

 _Elias left then. He left his school's tawny walls. He thought of pretty Dafna in History, her long black curls, her beautiful brown skin, her inky black eyes, who must be dutifully taking notes of everything the teacher said as Elias walked away. Perhaps he_ would _miss something, after all._

 _He walked the path of dry sand bordered by colorful pebbles for the last time. He patted Kiri's fluffy head for the last time while she slept in a sunny path of his uncle's garden. He climbed the whining stairs for the last time and opened the door to his room that was always jammed in the walls for the last time and scanned his empty room for the last time._

 _He fished in the hole in his closet for all his money. He packed his bag with only the necessary items—the remaining jewels, his money, his clothes, a map, an old cellphone, a dagger, the gun he had stolen from his uncle's office, enough food for the road, his papers, his parents' documents and his mother's locket._

 _He wore his boots, took his bag, adjusted the bracelet on his wrist, and left the room_ wide open _as he disappeared._

 _But right before he walked out, he stopped by the occasional table near the entrance gate, and skimmed through the photos hung above it. His eyes stopped on the photo of his uncle with his arm around Elias's mother's shoulder. A hypocritical show of false acceptance, for his uncle, like many relatives in Elias's father's side of the family, had never quite accepted that his brother had married a Tanalean woman. The photo was just here to show whoever paid attention that his uncle was oh-so-good for being so friendly with a lowly foreigner._

 _Elias punched the photo. His fist left a hole in the wall._

 _His knuckles were still bloody when he reached the harbor. He didn't mind. It was a firm reminder of all the fire he had tried to drown during all these years, all the violence tamed by his numbness._

 _But he wouldn't be tamed._

 _Not anymore._

* * *

He cracked an eye open, then another, eyelids twitching to get used to the light around him. The remnants of a dream dissolved in his mind as he drank in the place he had been sleeping in. The colorful pebbles faded into colorful cushions, the orange tiles of his old school into a cream white wall. He realized, then, that he wasn't fourteen anymore but twenty, that pretty Dafna was lightyears away from him, and Mr. Oolon's circular glasses weren't peering into his soul anymore.

Instead, he was in a room. A colorful room. Staring at what was probably a white ceiling, unless it was a very holy-glow-less heaven or a very cursed-fire-less hell. Or perhaps he just hadn't really opened his eyes, and all the things he thought he had seen were still part of his strange dream. That sometimes happened when he was hovering between sleeping and waking up, and he dreamt of doing things he should be doing as he woke up like stopping the alarm or making breakfast or wearing some clothes to greet no one because no one visited him.

He rubbed his eyes in a childlike gesture that had never left him. The first thing he realized, before he even registered his hunger or his pain or his thirst or anything primal, was that the presence he had felt while waking up wasn't a dream. Except, it wasn't . It was infinitely more intimidating, overwhelming, yet slick and mysterious.

But it wasn't murderous, so he didn't need to worry immediately.

He sat up then, wincing at the sharp pain on his stomach. His hand went there, feeling the rough surface of Band-Aid spread all over his side. He faintly remembered being hurt, but he was too tired to care and—

His bracelet.

A flicker of fear passed on his face, a fist seizing his chest. He rose his wrist to examine it, and relaxed when he realized the leather bracelet was still there.

"Awake at last?" a voice said. From his right. Elias finally glanced at him, the owner of this presence so strong it transcended his dreams. "Can you move?" he said again, sashaying toward Elias with his arms crossed over his black t-shirt.

Elias simply stared, as that seemed like the only thing he could do since he had woken up, mouth slightly gaping and mind not-so-slightly racing. He had probably sustained wounds on his head, because he was clearly imagining things. Why in hell would he be waking up to such a gorgeous young man standing next to him? The same gorgeous and dangerous hunter who had once nearly killed him, both literally with his lightning and figuratively with his damned beauty? Elias thought he would never see him again.

Was Elias missing something?

"I know I'm gorgeous, but stop staring. It's annoying."

There. Elias blinked. "What are you doing here?" he finally asked, a dumb question that perfectly expressed the dumb mess in his head.

The boy rolled his eyes in such a disdainful way Elias somehow felt a little dumber. But he wasn't sure it was because of the haughty gesture—Elias had since long stopped caring about such gestures—because the boy's eyes alone were pretty enough to render him even completely stupid with awe. Feline eyes with ice flames burning deep in their irises. "I happen to be perfectly in my place. The cliché question should be 'where am I', except it's legit here."

"Okay, well, where am I?" Elias repeated. "What am I doing here?"

(Cliché questions, sure, but legitimate indeed, because Elias had no damned idea what he was doing in a room with floral pillows and fairy lights above the bed and a wall covered with cute pictures. In his memories, the cell he had been spending the last two weeks was rather… bland, to say the last, in comparison. The first difference being the lack of bed or lights or _colors_ or anything remotely close to _comfort_.)

The boy with moon hair—oh, such poetry—frowned, as though he was trying to gauge Elias. "You've been saved, idiot."

Saved.

And the previous night came back to him.

So this dangerous, gorgeous and dangerously gorgeous young man standing next to him, the same who had once tried to kill him, had been his savior that night.

In front of Elias's silence, the young man insisted. "Did they get rid of the few neurons you had?"

A word shook some sense in Elias's tired memory.

 _They_.

He didn't need to ask who _they_ were.

"I dunno, but they certainly tried to," Elias mumbled. He tried to move his leg to sit down more comfortably. "Did they remove the neuron that connected to your name or did you just never tell me?"

"Guess," the boy said, leaning against the wall as Elias tried to stretch—oh boy, that _hurt_!

"Oh come on, I'll have to give you a cute nickname if you don't tell me."

The boy grimaced. "Killua."

Elias rose his eyes to meet his. His name echoed in his mind, and he thought for a moment it would be a fitting name for a remote planet's moon. "Okay, hi, Killua. Pretty name. Means anything?" He asked, shooting Killua what he hoped was a flirty look, though that was neither the time nor the moment—not that Elias cared.

(It seemed that he had a thing for inconvenient and bad-timed flirting.)

"There's 'kill' inside so I'm not sure it's anything sweet. But that's not the point. I get that you can move?"

With painful effort, Elias managed to stand. The wounds around his ankles screamed in agony, a violent reminder of the manacles that had pierced through his skin. He sat down then, already tired after this effort. "Kinda." He looked around them, then. It hit him, again, how cheerful this room looked. With the vanity crowded with makeup and cosmetics and small artistic details like mandala mirrors and DIY decoration everywhere.

Yeah.

Most definitely not a cell.

"You didn't answer my question," he found himself asking, his eyes stuck on the polka-dotted pillows he had slept on. "Where am I?"

As though to answer his question, a young woman, no more than twenty, opened the door and peeked inside. Her soft features rang a bell to Elias, big almond-shaped eyes and full lips and a lovely perky nose graced by her oval face. But he didn't remember seeing anyone with green eyes and greige hair before. He would have remembered, surely, because it made her look a lot like a spring field lush under a warm sun, and Elias hadn't seen spring-field-like people in a long while. Not at all. The people he had spent his last two weeks reminded him more of Death Eaters than spring fields.

"You're awake. Are you okay?" she asked, and her silvery, deep voice triggered a memory in his hazy mind. Of a similar girl with black hair and black eyes and guns and sharpshooting skills.

A disguise, he realized.

"Now I am," Elias said, a dreamy smile stretching on his lips.

She smiled back, and if he hadn't been such a sinful human being, he would have thought he had really ended in Heaven.

"So you two are the heroes who saved me?" he asked, his gaze switching from the girl to Killua.

"You can put it this way," the girl answered. "I'm Hana, by the way."

"Hana," he repeated. "And Killua." He ran a hand through his hair, then rubbed his nape. "They had planned to torture some info out of me, so you probably saved me a few fingers, perhaps even an eye or a foot. I'm grateful. But how did you find me?"

Hana and Killua shared a glance, a silent conversation Elias was not a part of. Then, Killua turned back his serious gaze on him. "There's a third party who sent me a message—we still don't know who they are. They told me you were in trouble, that I had to save you. Hana was unknowingly working on the same case as me, but they still don't know she's my ally. She found your location."

Elias nodded, all the while staring at this tall girl with her solid frame and her warm smile. This girl who had somehow found out how to trick their wicked and kind of obsessed enemies.

"A third party, you say," Elias said, but coughed as the words came out of his mouth.

Hana took a bottle from her nightstand and filled a glass with it. She gave it to him. "Drink this," she said. "The third party is hiding under a pseudonym. They call themselves Charybdis."

He frowned, his glass frozen midway. Then, he took a gulp of water and let the information sink in.

"So you got a message from them too," Killua deduced, watching him with intent eyes.

Elias stared at him. His mouth was shut as he peered into Killua's calculating gaze. Somehow, he felt like he was being stripped under that gaze, as though his deepest secrets were exposed and laid bare under that scrutiny. "I did."

"What did it say?"

Another question, another wince. He remained silent, no matter Killua's pressing gaze. His unease grew as Killua didn't waver.

Hana intervened. "Come with me," she said, walking to the door and gesturing him to follow her. "I'll show you something."

Elias frowned, unsure of whether he could trust her or not. Sure, she and Killua had saved him, but for all he knew, he had come out of a dangerous situation to end in another. After all, Charybdis had a Scylla, and he wasn't sure he would be ready for Scylla after what he had been through. He had already located the window in the room, but he wasn't sure he could just jump out of it and expect to survive. He didn't know what floor they were in, and he barely had the strength to walk anyway. For now, it was perhaps safer to listen to them.

So, he stood and started limping behind her—until she stopped walking, turned back and promptly came to his level to support him and help him walk, Killua right behind them at a safe distance. Despite his wariness, Elias had to admit that wasn't a very enemy-ish gesture, so if that girl was his enemy then she was doing a very bad job out of it.

Besides, Hana didn't have this constant 'DANGER' sign on top of her head—unlike Killua, whose narrowed eyes very nearly screamed 'do something even remotely shady and I'll make those enemies of ours sound like care bears'.

(Perhaps that had something to do with her, too.)

Hana finally stopped at the end of the corridor and opened a door. A whiteboard stood there, covered with illegible handwriting and fruit magnets and pieces of papers he assumed to be… evidence.

She helped him sit on a chair near a table at the center of a room. While she went to the whiteboard—and Killua leaned against the wall behind him—Elias let his eyes wander over the room. There were notes on the table, with drawings of a rifle and a few screws—but the rifle was hung to the wall, along with various weapons in a glass case. Her desk stretched along the wall and was covered with two big computers and monitoring devices. And, well, there were some post-its on the desk with random drawings scattered here and there.

She pulled him out of his thoughts when she came back toward him, with a card she had detached from the whiteboard. "This is the message Charybdis sent us."

Elias took the card as though it was a bomb, slowly reading it.

 _Killua,_

 _You're safe. You haven't been exposed long enough to die. You'll be groggy for a few days and won't be able to move, but you'll live. There won't be any consequences either—you had the good sense to leave immediately._

 _Elias Galivanos is alive, but he needs your help. Find him, and save him._

 _I have your back._

 _Your friend,_

 _Charybdis._

"Here, now you know what Charybdis wanted from us," Killua said. He had conjured next to Hana without ever being heard.

The card was written in the same computer font handwriting, a flawless penmanship that gave little to no information about its author. Seeing his name written in that handwriting sent chills down his spine. He didn't like the idea of an anonymous ally knowing about him.

He had grown up as a shadow, a forgotten soul controlling what people knew of him. Elias the fun-loving dork. Elias the big flirt. Elias the useless idiot. Elias the thief, the treasure hunter, the disgrace, the seducer, the weapon-maker, the hindrance. It gave him power over himself to know how every person he knew saw him.

That was why this Charybdis set him on edge. What did that person know of him? How much did they know? Which hidden sides of his had they seen? Which forbidden memories had they glimpsed?

He swallowed. "I got a message about the client who ordered weapons from me, six months ago. That client had used a jewel to pay me. Charybdis… enlightened me about this client."

Killua's eyebrows knitted together as Hana wrote that down. Elias didn't like that she wrote down everything he said. He didn't like leaving parts of himself anywhere. "What did the card say?" Killua asked, not bothering sugarcoating or beating around the bush. "We need that info, Elias. We need to figure out what they want from us, how much they know about us."

A sigh escaped Elias's lips. Resigned, he tried to recall the card. "Charybdis told me an… old acquaintance of mine works with the guy who hired my client. That acquaintance knew exactly what jewel to use as a bait to get me to sell my weapons to them."

"Your client was Robert Mulgrad," Killua enlightened. "He was hired by Erik Faem. Just so you have a name to put on the people who tortured you."

Elias gave a rueful smile. "They wouldn't have killed me anyway. I somehow figured the weapons weren't the only thing they wanted from me."

"What else?" Hana asked, her head perking up from her laptop. She was so dutiful, never missing any of his words, all the while working on whatever a dutiful girl could work on at three in the morning.

Elias simply gestured toward himself. "Me."

"Why would they want you?" Killua asked.

"Who knows, perhaps that Faem guy is crushing on me," Elias mumbled. But as Killua arched an eyebrow, he sighed. "Don't give me that face, I'm not entirely sure. Besides, I don't have to disclose any information." He leveled Killua with one of his rare serious gazes. "You'll be surprised by how much I can take when I don't want to speak. Ask those assholes who did that to me," he added, raising his scarred arm bearing the burns he had sustained. The memory behind them was nothing pleasant and Elias shuddered at the thought. He still smelled the intoxicating scent of burnt flesh. He still felt the sweat gliding from his chin to his neck as he gritted his teeth and shut his eyes close. He still heard his own screams.

But Killua didn't get angry. He simply, again, shared a gaze with Hana. And nodded. "Okay, here's the deal. We tell you what we know. You tell us what you know. We work together the space of an hour to understand this whole situation." He crossed his arms. "We are not enemies, Elias. But we do have an enemy in common."

 _Convincing_ , Elias thought. After all, he was dealing with a crime hunter. And if he remembered well, Hana was a crime hunter as well, as Killua had said they were working on the same case.

But even if he was interested in their offer—God knew he too needed answers—he still didn't feel like giving everything to them.

Not before a plate of food.

"Okay. But first, I'm hungry." He grinned as Killua's face fell in disbelief. "Feed me and I'm all yours."

Killua cleared his throat. He exchanged a glance with Hana, looking for her approval. It seemed like neither of them did anything without consulting the other—as would be expected in a team. Then, he left the room as she nodded. (They had a nice way to communicate, all nods and exchanged glances. It was almost romantic, if not for the morbid setting.)

"He'll bring you something," she announced.

Elias nodded, a small satisfied smile hanging by his lips.

If he was going to talk, then he may as well do it with a full stomach.

* * *

"Okay, so, I'm gonna tell you the whole story now."

The words were slow to come. Perhaps the food was responsible for it, since Elias was currently munching on a delicious sandwich, prepared by the delicate hands of the beautiful Killua—who was now glaring at him with murderous eyes.

"It all starts six months ago. Some guy phones me from the Delexo hotel, asks for weapons, gives me a jewel as a payment."

"A jewel that you were seeking," Hana added.

He pointed a finger toward her. "Yeah. A jewel that was used as a bait to get me to sell my weapons to them—and perhaps to get me curious enough to look for them and fall in their trap. Since I'm desperate and perhaps a little stupid, I accept. I mean, it may or may not have been a jewel I've been seeking for years.

"Turns out that guy who wanted to buy weapons from me, Mulgrad, was hired by someone, called…" he looked at Killua.

"Faem. Erik Faem hired Mulgrad."

"Okay, so the asshole of the story is Faem. So, since I'm not _entirely_ an idiot—just a bit—" he stopped munching. "—well, more like a lot, but _not_ entirely, I found it strange that out of all jewels, my client knew exactly which one to use to get me to sell weapons to them. It almost felt like an invitation and that didn't sit well with me. That's when my client contacts me to tell me Faem wants to work with me."

"You didn't say that, when I questioned you," Killua interrupted him.

"Did I have to?"

Killua opened his mouth. "Good point. Continue."

"Alright. So, Faem wants to work with me—he wants to find another jewel, and he thinks I can find it for him." Hana turned her face toward him at this moment, for a second. "He offers as a payment yet another jewel I was looking for. Except this time, I refuse, because it's too good to be true and life has taught me the hard way that too much good means bad news. I decide then to investigate, to find out how Faem knows exactly what will please me.

"That's when Charybdis sends me this message—which, on top of being creepy, arrived exactly at the right moment. They tell me Faem—but they didn't say it was Faem, I had no idea until you told me—worked with someone who knew me well. An acquaintance."

"Redundant," Killua said. "And you're not telling the whole story."

Elias pouted. "What then?"

Hana's gaze veered toward him. "First, why did Faem want you? A man like him can probably get his hand on a dozen of good treasure hunters. So why you personally?"

"Oh c'mon, are you implying I'm not a good treasure hunter?"

"You're an original one," she said. In those cases, Elias knew 'original' was a polite substitute for 'lame'.

"You suck and you know it," Killua reworded. "There's no reason Faem would contact you unless he had personal business with you. Faem has some reach in the HCDS, he could easily corrupt one of the best treasure hunters if what he wanted was a treasure hunter. But in that case, he wanted _you_."

Elias chuckled. Killua's vehemence was so funny, it was hard to not laugh. "I gotta admit, that's convincing."

"So then, why you?" Hana repeated.

Elias's laugh died, replaced by something much more solemn. Not a secret, but a truth he hadn't shared in a long time. He held Hana's gaze for a long time, finding some solace in the bright green of her eyes. "My parents were jewel makers. Goldsmiths. Both of them. Actually, all the women from my mother's side of the family used to be goldsmiths as well—my grandma, my great-grandma, and so on, with a technique transmitted from mother to daughter. That's how my parents met; they were fans of each other's works.

"I think the jewel Faem ultimately wants was made by my parents, or at least someone from my family. That's why he wants me to work with them. So I can find that jewel. He thinks I know where it is or where to start looking."

"Find it?" she said. "So he assumed you didn't have that jewel with you?"

Killua walked to another spot in the room, this time in Elias's sight. "The whole story, Elias," he said, but his voice wasn't hard as it was before. Elias knew, then, that Killua had understood.

So, he sighed. "My parents were killed with I was twelve. Their jewels were stolen then, all of them. The attack was organized by a group of three mercenaries. One of them was killed by my village's only hunter on the spot. When I investigated, some weeks ago, I found out that another had died a few years ago. And the last one, well…"

"Well?"

He gave a rueful smile. "He's the 'acquaintance' working with Faem."

Silence fell then, after this cheery interlude. Killua broke it with a solemn voice. "So this is why you're after jewels."

"Nice, Sherlock," Elias joked, resting his head on his hand.

Hana tilted her head. "You're not really a thief, then."

"Depends. Do you consider stealing what was once yours a thievery? Or do you consider it rightful?"

"Depends," she echoed. "Was it taken forcefully from it or did you willingly give it away? In your case the jewels were stolen. You're only retrieving what's yours."

Again, he smiled. "Nice."

"So why the whole 'bad thief' persona?" Killua butted in.

"Makes me look like a toughie."

"Honestly?"

Elias chuckled. "Nah. But it's easier to have access to black market items when you pretend you're a thief. And that's usually where I'll find my parents' jewels." He arched an eyebrow. "I'm not all good either, though. I did sell my weapons to a bunch of criminals, even though I knew they'd probably use them to do some bad shit. Mulgrad being one of them."

Something wonderful happened then. A sight Elias had never seen, that he knew he would remember for a long time as one of the most beautiful sights he had ever witnessed.

Killua smiled.

Not a smirk, but a sincere smile. Perhaps a bit amused. A whole different person stood there then, with a soft smile that made him look so much kinder. (The stars in Hana's eyes said a lot about how much she agreed.) "You're trying so hard to paint yourself as a bad guy, it's just not realistic."

Elias looked away, the same nonchalant smile he always wore stuck on his face. "Perhaps, who knows. Not me."

"Anyway, you said you investigated some weeks ago. What did you do?" Killua went on, the seriousness back in his eyes.

"I tried to find who had brought the jewel I received as a payment to my client. I wanted to know how they were certain this jewel would pique my interest.

"That's how I found the second mercenary had died. Turned out he too was working for Faem, and he was the one who had brought my payment to them—years ago, long before Faem even knew about my existence. He's had this jewel for a long time, for reasons I have yet to understand."

"Odd. How did he die?" Hana asked."

"Killed by some serial killer. He was on a mission, precisely, to find the jewel Faem is currently after. I think the payment I received was one of Faem's failures to retrieve the actual jewel—whatever it is. He's been looking for it for years."

A brief look of shock flashed in Killua's eyes. It lasted half a second, and was followed by a keen awareness that glowed in his gaze with raw determination. Elias could practically see the puzzle pieces connecting on Killua's face, the links he had drawn between what he had just said and whatever he and Hana knew.

"Show me his face," Killua slowly said, turning toward Hana as she got ready to search for his name in the Hunter Website database—Elias had tried to access that website a hundred times, to no avail; to think that girl had hacked her way into it…

"… Okay?" He stood up, supported himself on the table and circled it to sit next to Hana, on an empty desk chair. "Search for Owen Swatscher."

As she typed the name, Killua walked closer to them, right between them, and bent toward the screen.

It took a few seconds for the results to come. A few more to scroll to the right one. And one more second for the picture to load.

Then Owen's face appeared, in all its hideous glory. Elias stared at it with the embers of all his hatred burning in his chest, where he had hidden the graves of his parents and the anguish of his youth. This was the face of the man who had robbed his parents from their lives, who had robbed him from his right to have a family and a home and happiness.

"That's the man," he said slowly. And that man was dead, killed the same way he had killed. Unjustly, quickly, dirtily.

Elias glanced at his strange allies, looking for a reaction. Hana's face was focused as she saved the picture to her computer.

But Killua was still staring.

And he stared for a long time.

Slowly, he pointed toward the man in the picture.

Or well, not exactly.

He pointed toward the _cross-shaped scar_ on his cheek.

"This is the man."

* * *

"I've seen this man in my dreams without ever understanding why," Killua explained.

"Since when?" Hana asked, a frown creasing her forehead.

"I'm not sure. But when I got sick, I dreamt of him. Dead." He glanced toward the desk, in the drawer where he knew Hana had hidden the comb. "Perhaps…"

Hana caught his gesture. She slid her chair toward the drawer and took the jewel out of it. If they didn't owe Elias an explanation, he would have told her to act with more measure. But Hana knew what she was doing, and Killua was aware of it.

Besides, there were chances that this comb belonged to Elias.

"This is what Faem is after," she said as she handed the delicate comb to him. "I found it without meaning to. I was working on a disappearance and it turned out the guy who had disappeared was the last person to have owned this comb. He hid it before dying." She leveled Elias's gaze. "If Faem knows this jewel is here, he will send people to kill me and retrieve it."

Elias nodded, his eyes riveted on the jewel. "I won't tell anyone, if that's what you're implying. In exchange, what I told you should remain a secret."

"Count on us."

"So? Rings a bell?" Killua asked.

"Hmm." He turned over the comb, squinting to read the inscription. "Leanaj?"

"Whoever she is, this was gifted to her," Hana said.

Another nod. "Yeah. It was made by my grandmother, from my mother's side. I saw it only in photos, and in the concept drawings my grandma made. I believe it was ordered by a rich merchant for his daughter's wedding." He smiled. "My mom told me the flowers were real. They were dipped in gold before being put on the comb." He gave it back to her.

She took it delicately in her hand, examining the flowers Elias had just mentioned with wonder. "So it's not yours?"

"Nope. It doesn't belong to my family anymore. It's the first time I've seen it for real."

"Do you know who Leanaj was then?"

He shrugged. "Not really. I just know she was the daughter of a rich merchant—who only had daughters and adored them. My grandma was still living in Tanalea when the girl's father ordered the comb. Then the Kumotori crisis happened and my grandma left the country, so she never told us what happened to Leanaj." A sense of kinship dawned on Hana's face. Killua realized, then, that it had surely been the same for her family. A grandmother fleeing a wrecked country to offer her children the best life she could. Hana's father had been one of those children. "How did you know Owen, though?" Elias asked, to Killua.

"Are you ready for a crazy story?"

"Always."

Killua smirked. The truth he had uncovered was no less shocking than the lack of it. If he was right, then he would have to travel far to meet a psychopath who had ruined hundreds of lives out of pure _fun_. "Alright. I've seen this Owen through a serial killer's memories. He was holding the comb, and Owen was dead. I saw him through the teeth of the comb."

 _Bloody hands. A rose gold comb._

As he finished his sentence, he saw the moment it all made sense to Hana. The moment the puzzle pieces connected and wielded together. "The Wonderland serial killer!" she exclaimed, eyes wide in shock. She immediately rushed to her computer, searching his name in the Hunter Website.

"Huh? Who?"

"Stelem Baroque, also known as the Wonderland serial killer, is a serial killer who left Wonderland references on all his murders," Killua explained. "Little bottles and tiny cookies with tags such as 'eat me' or 'drink me'. They were all filled with a lethal dose of poison—and pieces of his memories to retrace his position."

"And then I'm the idiot? The guy basically let himself get caught," Elias commented.

"He wasn't trying to run away. He wanted to be caught. This whole wild goose chase was all he wanted. It was a treasure hunt and he was the 'prize'."

"And you're the one who caught him?"

"Yep."

"How exactly? You just drank his shit hints?"

"Yep."

Elias blinked. "Uh-huh, totally okay. How are you not dead?"

Oh, the amusement Killua felt. "I've been trained to resist poisons since I'm young. No big deal."

But Elias just looked at Hana for confirmation. Hana, who just shrugged and dropped the truth she had accepted since long ago. "He's a Zoaldyeck. So yeah, 'no big deal',' she quoted.

"Oh." He looked at Killua with a mixture of shock and wonder. "That explains a lot. You're the rebel of the family."

Killua arched an eyebrow. "Is that how I'm known?"

"In the Underground, yeah. You're the rebel heir, the bad-guy-gone-good, the iconic fallen Zoaldyeck," Elias listed.

"Fallen Zoaldyeck," Hana repeated, choking a laugh. "Looks like you're a celebrity, Rebel Heir."

Killua rolled his eyes. "This is ridiculous."

"And sexy," Elias butted in. "The whole rebel persona? So hot."

"Add that to my infinite list of hot points," Killua mumbled. He wasn't sure about what being a celebrity in the Underground meant. He much preferred being Hana's rebel rather the Underground's 'Fallen Zoaldyeck'.

Hana saved Killua from any further annoyance. "Anyway, that doesn't solve the problem. If Killua saw the Wonderland killer's memories, that means… the last one who saw Owen alive is him." She turned her head toward him, and her eyes were so filled with worry it felt overwhelming. "So now you're thinking of leaving, to meet dear Wondie."

He stayed silent, holding her afraid gaze with as much calm as he could, to reassure her. "Yeah. I believe there was evidence that Baroque was collecting his victims' memories before killing them. Only two samples were found—none of them corresponding to Owen—but there are big chances that Owen's last memories are somewhere to be found. Probably the black market."

His calm did little to relieve her worry. Elias, on the other hand, was still dumbfounded. "Okay, what? That's not crazy, that's downright mad. Where's that asshole now?"

"In a highly secured cell, in the Trick Tower. My old examiner happens to be the head of the Trick Tower; if I reach out for him, he will surely let me meet Baroque."

"It's risky," she said. "What if something happens to you?"

"Nothing will happen. If I managed to bear with Elias's bad jokes, I can bear with anything."

"Hey, that's mean."

She smiled. She didn't argue anymore, but he knew that deep in her mind she was still stressing over that. It wouldn't be Hana if she didn't stress over things that hadn't happened yet and worry for her friends' wellbeing more than for her own.

"That settles it," Killua concluded. "We all know everything."

Elias rubbed his chin in a gesture that was supposed to be serious, but looked goofy on him. "So we can sleep, now."

"Who said you'd sleep here?"

"You can sleep on the couch for the rest of the night if you want," Hana said, and Killua gaped at her words. "We'll figure out what to do with you tomorrow. Do you have a safe place to stay?"

"Huh, yeah. They don't know where I live. I'll go there tomorrow. Thanks." He rubbed his nape. For all his jokes and his offhandness, it turned out that Elias was pretty awkward around real kindness. And Hana had loads of that.

"What about you, Hana?"

"I've already slept. I'll try to sort out all the info we have. It's already five in the morning anyway."

Killua got up, gesturing Elias to follow him. "You should get some sleep anyway. Even for one hour."

"I'll be fine. You can sleep in my bed," she replied, already focusing on her laptop.

Killua sighed. He supported Elias out of the workroom and walked him to the couch in the living room. There, he let him drop with much less patience than Hana had had before.

Elias winced in pain. "Oh boy that hurt. She's a lot kinder than you." He craned his neck toward the workroom, as though to make sure she couldn't hear him. "Why does she do that for me?" he whispered then. "No one's ever been so kind to me in years."

"Partly because she took a liking to you."

The disbelief on Elias's face was comical. "… Okay, what's the other part?"

"Who knows. She's a very kind person."

"And?"

Killua rolled his eyes. "Because she's cheesy and your tragic past probably made her care for your sorry ass." Hands on his hips, he leveled Elias with an annoyed gaze. "I can't believe she let you sleep on the couch."

"She told you to sleep in her _bed_."

"Whatever. Like I can sleep after that."

An air of seriousness lodged in Elias's gaze. "There's another thing, Killua." That caught Killua's attention, and he stared at Elias with keen eyes. "I didn't want to say that in front of Hana, because the girl seems to have tendencies to panic—especially when you're involved. But at the Quarters, the guys were talking about you. I didn't know you were the Killua they were cursing during their poker games, but you're not liked." He frowned. "They might pull a dick move on you."

"No worries, I'm prepared." The truth hung in his mouth, but he didn't say it. That he wasn't worried for himself, but for his friends. The folder they had found, with the photos of Leorio, Maya, Mag and Hana still scathed. "You should worry about yourself, too. Hana and I found a folder about you. We'll see that tomorrow."

Elias gave a weak smile. "It's already tomorrow." He glanced toward the workroom. "I can tell you're worried about her, you know. And in return she's worried about you. A couple of worrywarts."

Killua didn't give any sign that he was surprised—though he was. He didn't either try to deny the title of 'couple', because that was pointless and childish and, well, because he liked it. "You think?"

"Duh, it's so obvious. That cheesy thing between you two is so thick I could put my hands in it and make a pizza out of it. You look at her like she's a constellation or some cheesy shit. Like she's a living a breathing Big Mac or a giant pizza or... A giant chocorobot."

Killua unwittingly laughed. "Your desecration of the topic is hilarious. A giant Big Mac? If that's how you compliment girls, I think I might know why you're single."

"My lack of romance is a pure choice. I'm a man of one night."

"How does one go from giant Big Mac to poetry?"

"You're changing the topic. Typical."

Killua shrugged. "Whatever. Can you really blame me? Have you looked at her?" Killua said, a fond smile tugging at his lips.

Elias blinked, then mirrored it with a smile of his own. "I have. And I've seen the way she looks at you too."

Killua arched an eyebrow. "Like I'm a giant Big Mac?"

"Like you're a treasure. Precious and irreplaceable. Dear to her. You know, the usual romantic shit."

Killua felt his heart lurch at the words. "I would know."

"If you weren't busy seeing her like she's made of chocolate, you would."

"Didn't you say you weren't a man of romance?"

Elias leaned on his elbows, his olive eyes catching the chandelier's light in a halo of gold and green. "I might have lied."

* * *

 **Wednesday, May 6th**

 **10:12 A.M.**

Three days had passed since the revelation that the Wonderland serial killer was the next hint in their wild treasure hunt.

In three days, Killua had called Lippo—the Black List Hunter in charge of the Trick Tower—to request a confidential meeting with Stelem Baroque, had paid all his bills and done all his tasks so no one would try to reach for him during those two weeks, had booked a ticket for a blimp to the farthest city to the Trick Tower—Semala—and had packed his luggage for his secret expedition—because of course, no one except Hana and Elias knew that he was really going to the Trick Tower; everyone else, including the spies that would surely be waiting at the airport and the machines tracking his ticket, would think that he was going to Semala, a city where he had completed his last task, to deliver a top-secret and extremely important folder to his anonymous client.

Hunter licenses came quite in handy in those cases. Because, of course, Killua wasn't really going to Semala. That was just a lure for the airport companies that Faem surely spied on. In all the machines, he would be registered as boarding to Semala, but thanks to his license, his absence in the blimp to Semala wouldn't be questioned, and he would secretly be going to Debaban, the city closest to the Trick Tower, with _no_ ticket and _no_ traceability. In first class. With a personal room in his plane. But that was not important.

(Except to him. It was very important to him.)

The ticket had been booked for Wednesday, May 6th, at noon.

Which meant, that exact day.

The day that marked the first time Hana wouldn't see Killua for two weeks in a row. Two weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours. Sixty times as many minutes. All this time without seeing him, hearing him, touching him.

She was driving him to the airport, but she already missed him. It didn't help much that he was leaving for a particularly gloomy reason; if he had been taking vacations, she'd have been okay with it. But he wasn't taking vacations. He was going to meet the worst serial killer to have ever existed in Comershill—except for the Whisper; the Whisper was a whole different category, and at least, he didn't cut his victims in tiny pieces or send them as flower arrangements to the Police. The Wonderland serial killer. A bloodthirsty murderer who had killed no less than seventy-two people in gruesomely cartoonesque ways. A murderer who, on top of being extremely dangerous and skilled in nen use, had been caught by no other than Killua, three years ago, and would surely resent him.

It made her sick to imagine the things he could do to Killua if he, who knew, escaped the scrutiny of Lippo's tower. She was aware it was completely unreasonable and Killua had told her that in a fight of pure strength and strategy, Baroque wouldn't survive a minute against Killua. But Hana was unreasonable when she was worried.

And in that moment, she was dead worried.

"If you feel like he's too much to handle, don't insist. Just leave," she stated. "If you need help, I can book a ticket quick and join you."

"Hana, I'll be okay. The guy won't be able to land a finger on me."

She ignored his comment. "If he provokes you, don't answer. Okay? Make sure Lippo is somewhere near so Wondie doesn't think you're at his mercy."

He sighed. "Hana, this isn't my first day of school. You don't need to worry. I caught him once and he never put a fight, I doubt he'll try to attack me now."

She parked the car in the airport parking slots, choosing a shadowy spot for her car. When the car stopped, neither of them moved. She was staring at the steering wheel, and he was staring at her.

"I don't want you to leave," she finally said. She had tried to keep that to herself, but she couldn't. She didn't want him to feel guilty or responsible for her either.

"I don't want to leave either, but I have to. I'll be back in two weeks. We've been through worse."

She arched an eyebrow. "Have we?"

"Yeah. We've been through nineteen years without knowing each other. I can't believe how sad it is to miss out on someone like me for nineteen years. Almost _twenty_."

She chuckled, not the least taken aback. It was so him to throw in offhand jokes with his usual smugness when she was feeling nervous. He knew how well it worked on her. "Okay, that's convincing." She took a deep breath. "You'll call, right?"

"Nah, I had planned to ditch you for two weeks straight and block you from my contacts. At last, some silence!"

More chuckles. "Call me when you've landed."

"Yeah. I'll call you when I find the hotel too. And when I lock the door. And when I close the fridge and the freezer. And before sleeping, so you know I didn't drown in my toilets or choke on my own tongue."

"Shut up, you moron," she laughed. "I certainly won't miss you now!"

"Good. I won't miss you either. I'm _sooo_ impatient to wake up on a Sunday morning without you nearly breaking my door."

"I'm gonna flood your phone, you won't even understand what's happening to you. You'll think it's the fire alarm or something like that," she threatened.

"I'll put it on silent mode."

"Just wait for the vibrations and the headaches!"

He laughed, a loud and beautiful laugh. "You win." He opened the car door then and they got out of the car.

"I always win," she replied as she opened the trunk, taking his luggage out of it. One big briefcase and a smaller bag. "Are you sure you need all this stuff for two weeks?"

"I need to look good to meet Wondie."

"Stop lying, your luggage is full of candies. You thought I didn't notice you bringing all these sweets?"

He smirked, leaning close as she shut the trunk. "I need something to remind me of you."

His smoky voice sent tingles through her whole body. She bore her gaze in his feline eyes, and she had for a second the crazy idea to kiss him senseless. "Go away before I steal you and stuff you in my trunk. I won't be able to let you go if you keep talking."

His smirk morphed into a smile. Such a soft smile, filled with longing. "I'll text you. And call. Every day. I promise."

She nodded, trying her best not to appear as sad as she was. She felt ridiculous in a way; it was only two weeks. But she already craved him so much waiting a day was too hard, too much, too straining. "I'll kick your ass if you don't."

He left then. He didn't hug her, though she had seen on his face that he wanted to. But he had surely wanted to make it easier for them; no matter his jokes, she knew it wouldn't be easy for him either.

She watched him disappear in the busy airport, swallowed by the moving crowd. Reluctantly, she got back into her car, trying to reconcile herself with the fact that she would not see him for two weeks.

After all, two weeks weren't that bad. It could have been more. Half the reason Killua needed two weeks was because of Lippo's timetable; it turned out Black List hunters were busy and finding time to meet Killua, discuss the issue with him and monitor his meeting with the Wonderland serial killer… wasn't an easy task. Hence the extended makeshift vacation. Killua's meetings with Lippo were so spaced out he had had to book a hotel for two weeks.

Her phone vibrated in her bag, but she didn't look at who had texted her until she parked her car near the HCDS—safety first, always—to meet Allan. It was a message from Elias:

'ok so killua told me to help u while hes not here but could u tell him that u said no bc im not in a mood to work'

Right. They were going to work with Elias until they found out what exactly Faem wanted. She wasn't sure why Killua trusted Elias—not that Elias was untrustworthy; she liked him enough—because Killua was usually wary around people. They had somehow figured helping each other could make the whole case move faster, though working with someone like Elias reminded Hana of those times in sixth grade when there was a group project and she was always paired up with the one guy who never did anything for the project and, at most, showed up to 'give ideas'.

However, Elias was good enough company. At least. 'Meet me tomorrow night at my place; be discreet.'

He replied with a single emoticon: ':('

As talkative as he was, he wasn't much of a chatty phone user. She grinned mischievously.

At least, she had someone to annoy during Killua's absence.

* * *

 **A/N** : Yay it's done :D So yes now you know why I mentioned the comb, Elias's backstory and how he's linked to the plot, and the whole crazy thing about the Wonderland killer. To be honest, I'm quite proud of this twist lol.

Don't worry though, Hana and Killua won't stay far from each other for too long. And even when they're far, they still manage to be cute :')

So tell me what you thought about this chapter! Did you like it? The revelations? Did you like Elias's POV? I can't wait to hear about what you think! For those who are still doubtful about reviewing, tell yourself your review will make me super happy _and_ will help the story be seen by more people. More people means more readers means more reviews means happier author means more motivated author means more chapters means more regular updates means happy readers too yay! It's a win-win situation, right? :D

Anyway, as you can see, I'm kinda exhausted so I'm gonna stop talking lol. You'll find below a little excerpt from next chapter, which will be entitled **Echoes** , right below.

Until then, review and we'll see each other in two weeks ;) Bye!

* * *

And he ran. And ran. And ran. Until his lungs begged for air and his muscles throbbed with pain. Until he was so far he couldn't smell the blood and hear her screams.

He only stopped when he reached the woods. As soon as he did, he fell to his knees and ripped the balaclava from his head and retched and cried and cried until his eyes burnt from the tears and his muscles were sore with exhaustion. He grabbed his head, rocking back and forth, desperate to wipe away that image of those children facing death, facing _him_. When had he fallen so low? How could he allow himself?

 _You had to._

Did he have to, really? Wasn't there another way?

 _Was there another way, for_ you _?_

He wrapped his arms around himself and closed his eyes. Sure enough, the baby faces were still there, covered in blood, frozen in death. A boy and a girl, two young souls with so many things to live, so many moments he had robbed from them.

He took a deep breath, wiping the tears away with the back of his hand. He struggled to stand up, staggering to the closest tree for support. And he looked up. His sins were bleeding in himself, his tattooed hand scathing with the guilt.

He had killed those children.


	21. Echoes

**A/N** : Hi guys! Hope you're all feeling good. On my side, I'm struggling to not drown with all my exams.

Which also means I haven't written much. Which means chapter 23 is still not done. But! I'd say it's like 60% done. And I have holidays in a week so I'll have time to write.

As always, thank you all for the follows, the favorites, and especially the reviews! You guys keep me going. Your reviews help me survive this hell of exams and projects.

For this week's fic rec, I'd recommend **Memento Mori** by **Little Knight Mik**! It follows Tomoe as she goes through the Hunter Exam and honestly Tomoe is adorable, the right balance of cute and petty lol. Mik's writing is quirky and elegant and fits the story so well! And overall the story has a lot of balance, it's definitely worth a shot ;)

Replies to guest reviews are below! Thanks and have fun reading the chapter!

* * *

 **Replies to guest reviews:**

 **Irem** : Thank you so much for reviewing! I love reading your reactions. I'm so happy you liked Elias (though I feel you, Killua will always be number one *A*)! And also, I'm glad you're waiting for THE chapter ;) I hope I won't disappoint!

* * *

Chapter 20: **Echoes**

* * *

 **10:54 A.M.**

The HCDS was uncharacteristically quiet when Hana arrived. Much to her relief; she ordinarily liked meeting up with old acquaintances, catching up on each other's lives, chatting for fifteen minutes and parting after a promise to see each other again—that they never lived up to. But there was no acquaintance Hana wanted to see at the HCDS—and there was no acquaintance who wanted to see her either. Apart from Allan and her mom. And, who knew, Ophelia probably didn't hate her.

Hana's mom wasn't on duty that day, so Hana quickly found her way in the corridors without taking any detour to her mom's office. Allan had told her to meet him around the quarantine sector—apparently, Aleon Dove wanted to meet her. Since the access to the quarantine sector was limited to high-ranked agents—like Allan—Hana couldn't go without him.

After undergoing various security measures—she didn't recognize any of the guards that watched over the different area gates—she found herself waiting in the empty lounge that led to the quarantine sector. She was a bit early. Allan was never late, so he would be coming soon.

As per habit, she took her phone and examined her planner, marking some tasks as completed, sorting out the others in her timetable.

She had to go the bar to resign her job as a bartender. She didn't need it now that Aleon wouldn't be going anymore, so it was just an unnecessary supplementary effort. Perhaps Yazel would give her his phone number to keep in touch because he was a cool friend. If he could reconcile the Hana he knew with the crime hunter in disguise, that is.

She also had to meet Lynd over a coffee to discuss the cases they were working on.

Then there was the usual—write reports, collect evidence, do the laundry, go to the grocery, order macarons at the café down her street. And the less usual—infiltrate Mulgrad's office to find more about the client he had sold Faem's information to, or 'say hi to Bob' as it was disguised in her phone.

With a little swipe, she examined the tasks she hadn't sorted out yet. Like her pizza-video-games night with Thomas and June. She should fit that somewhere—probably a Friday.

Firm steps pulled her from her reverie. She rose her eyes to meet Allan's tall figure striding toward her, clad with his usual class in a navy-blue suit and black oxfords. He offered a genuine smile that she couldn't help returning. "Miss Torana," he greeted her, poised as ever.

"Mr. Fox," she greeted back, accepting his handshake—boy, it was weird to be so professional with her former teacher. "By the way, it's Hana," she corrected. "For you, it's Hana, I mean."

His smile got wider. She wondered if he knew she would be put off by that much politeness, if he had done it on purpose to egg her on their former casualness. "And for you, it's Allan, then." He patted her shoulder, a gesture she preferred from the handshake that marked them as strangers. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm alright. Tired, as always."

"It eventually becomes a secondary state," he joked as he showed her the way. "That being said, you've been through a lot lately, so I'd suggest getting some rest."

"I'll get plenty of rest later. Tell me how you've been instead."

"Oh, same as you. Good but tired." He quickly changed the topic, already getting bored with small talk. "I wanted to tell you that in a few weeks, a party will be thrown at the HCDS to celebrate the President's success over his last case—and the engagement of his daughter, one of our renowned agents. You and Mr. Zoaldyeck would be welcome."

She forced a smile. "You know very well that I wouldn't be welcome in an HCDS party."

He shrugged. "Any hunter is welcome, words of the President himself. So just know you're invited, if you wish to drop by. I'm just relaying the information to you."

She gave him a long look—to which he smiled innocently. "Tell me about Aleon Dove instead," she changed the topic.

"Of course," he politely said, as though he hadn't just been burning to shift to his favorite topics—work. She knew him too well to be tricked by his faked patience. Allan was just a big kid and his playground was the HCDS and its strange criminal cases. Not that she could blame him—that passion for their work was what had brought them together, to begin with. "Dove has shown no more distressed episode since the last time he had a fit. However, he is still extremely nervous. He told us he felt safer here. But he's still on edge. He's had a few moments when he begged us for something to drink—alcohol—, so I suppose his stay in the quarantine sector under the care of our doctors will also be a, how do you say, cure?"

"Detox treatment," she said.

"Yes, that. It's not easy because he sometimes shows mild withdrawal symptoms that get confused with symptoms of the Whisper's curse. Our medical hunters are very keen on helping him."

She nodded. It was reassuring to hear that Aleon hadn't had a fit since the last episode. "What about the Whisper?" she asked, forcing the words out. "I mean, the case. Is there anything new?"

Allan's face darkened, and that was enough of an answer as it was. "We found another corpse. A man. Divorced, with no children. He lived alone near the Balia neighborhood. He worked as a mailman. He threw himself under a truck. The puncture scars were so faint and so damaged by the accident we nearly missed them."

She winced. She had heard about a new victim, but the details about his death hadn't been shared then. "One victim. In two weeks. That's less than usual. He used to be more… um, greedy," she noted, horrified by her own statement.

"I thought so as well. Either he's getting bored or he's preparing something grand."

"Will you be all right?" she inquired, concerned. She trusted Allan, but she knew what the Whisper could do. She didn't want Allan to ever go through what she did. "Who will be assigned to the case with you?"

He smiled. "Don't worry, I'll be all right. So far, the case has only been assigned to me. Emre is still thinking about who to send out for this case. I believe he wants to make a team but… it's hard to gauge just how many people will be needed. We can't just mobilize a bunch of agents for one serial killer."

"Emre?"

"Emre Nightowl, the HCDS's vice-president. Don't you remember?"

"Oh, right." She didn't remember much about the man, except that her young fifteen-year-old self had been scared shitless by his scowl. "So you still don't know who you'll be working with."

"So far I'm working with Nightowl himself. It's hard to find motivated hunters who actually know what they're throwing themselves into." He glanced at her with renewed vigor. "We may even have a lead, together. We dug in his case for more details, and here's what we found: he's never killed any child or any parent. All the people he killed had no children of their own. They were either college student over twenty or childless adults. Very few seniors as well and no favored gender. His victims' ages range between twenty and fifty years old, all genders included."

"So you're saying he refuses to kill children? He did save the little girl Coal had taken as his hostage."

"That's my favored hypothesis," Allan agreed. "I find that rather intriguing, though. It shows the Whisper isn't just some mindless killer. That he has some 'principle' to never kill children, for some odd reason. That only raises more questions about his motivations. Why not children? What does he want? What does he seek?"

Her face became grave. Principle? She held back a scoff. "He did kill a child, once."

Allan opened his mouth but said nothing. When Hana glanced at him, she saw sorrow in his eyes. Sorrow that only matched her anger. "I'm aware. Feri was only fifteen years old. But he is the only exception."

The words hit her like a punch. So this was what Feri had become. An exception. An oddity in the dark pattern of some murderer's killing habits. An intriguing disruption in the study of that serial killer, albeit a dark one. A name hastily written in a list of unfortunate souls, hidden in a folder that sat on a crime hunter's desk.

She pursed her lips, sealing these thoughts away with all the rage she had silenced in all this time, all the rage her guilt had silenced.

She was an exception too.

Except she was the exception that survived.

"Hana," Allan suddenly called, glancing at her from the corner of his eyes. "I want you to know that you can talk to me, about anything. You're not alone."

She forced a smile, wishing he didn't try to broach the topic. "I know. But I'm fine."

"I know you are. You're a brave girl, one of the bravest and brightest people I have ever met. But," he paused, looking away for a second, "you're also fragile. You're human. You shouldn't shoulder all the responsibility alone. You forget that you were also a victim."

"Except I lived and he didn't," she cut short through his speech. Softly, but firmly. "Even if I was a victim, I'm still the one who got to live. And yet I didn't have more rights over life than he did."

"How is that your fault?" he asked in a low voice.

Her eyelids twitched. She exhaled soundly. "Remind me who insisted on taking this mission and who was strongly against it. Now think about who survived and who died."

Something flashed in his eyes—a little like sadness, a lot more like indignation. "You couldn't know it would be so dangerous!" he whisper-shouted but quickly regained his composure. "You couldn't know the extent of the Whisper's powers—none of us did."

She stopped walking, staring at him in the eye. "Feri didn't want to take this mission. He was always against it. If I had listened to him, he would still be alive."

"You were just a child," he tried, so convinced that it explained everything.

"I was a child who led her friend to his death. Because I was too ambitious and too stubborn."

"And I was the teacher who failed to protect both of his students. I supported you in your project. I didn't listen to his worries either. I very nearly killed Feri myself." He breathed out. "And I was neither a child nor an apprentice. If one of us failed here, that would be me."

"Why would you so readily take all the blame?" she snapped.

He didn't meet her eye, instead staring right in front of him. "I need to endorse this responsibility, Hana. I need to carry this weight too. Not just for you, but also for myself. I grieve, too. And time did little to sooth Feri's absence. I hate to tell myself it could have been avoided, that his death was the fruit of a coincidence, of an inevitable lack of knowledge and resources. That it was all due to uncontrollable circumstances. I'd much rather accept my responsibility in his death, instead of telling myself it was a matter of luck."

She swallowed, unsure of what to reply. After all this time, she barely grasped just how much Allan needed to mourn the loss of his student, just how much he needed this weight to replace his grief. It only occurred to her, then, that this was Allan's way to cope. Accept the responsibility, carry it along with the fond memories. As though the blame was easier to shoulder than the grief.

Perhaps it was, to him. To take on this weight all by himself rather than attribute it to luck and randomness. But Allan was just a man and he couldn't carry the weight of the world all by himself.

There was always a moment when the bones would snap.

"It's not healthy," she said under her breath. But she didn't continue, because she was nobody to give lessons about unhealthy ways to cope with grief. She wanted to forget, Allan wanted to remember. She wanted to drown, he wanted to stand and carry the blame all by himself.

In the end, they were both two sides of the same coin. Two self-punishing idiots with fucked up ways to cope.

"Here we are," he changed the topic, gesturing toward a secured metal gate. He took his hunter license and flashed it on the digital device in the wall, near the door, then composed a code.

The door opened. None of them tried to talk about Feri anymore.

The first thing that struck Hana was the overwhelming whiteness of the place. White walls, white ceilings, white lights. The floor was a pale hue of green, the closest thing to color in that aseptic place. As though every single inch of these walls had been sterilized over and over.

She shuddered. She had spent her fair share of days in that place. It didn't hold a very pleasant place in her heart. She still remembered waking up to the white ceiling of a windowless room, the distant sound of doctors calling her from the other side of a glass pane. Like she was a phenomenon to study and not a girl on the verge of death.

Allan had probably noted her discomfort from the way he glanced at her, eyebrows slightly furrowed, but he made no note of it. She was grateful for that.

"I wish you had told me," a feminine voice interrupted her thoughts, coming through a door at the far end of the corridor they were in. "Instead of just walking away from me without an explanation."

"I had no idea I was sick. I wanted to protect you," a man replied. Hana vaguely matched that tired voice to Aleon's.

"From what? _You_?"

"I _am_ dangerous. You haven't seen what I nearly did at the hotel. Imagine I had a fit in front of _you_?"

Allan knocked on the door before the woman could reply. When she came to open it, Hana recognized the woman who had hired her to find what was wrong with Aleon and keep an eye on him. The girlfriend he had broken up with, without giving any explanation.

"Oh, hello," the woman greeted, letting them. "Aleon was expecting you."

Hana greeted her back, exchanging a brief handshake.

As the woman closed the door behind them, Hana felt another shudder crawling up her back. Aleon was kept in the same kind of room as her own, a few years ago. All white, with a glass pane separating him from everyone else, both for security and noise reasons—though in his case, she was about sure security had been the main issue. For a moment, she felt transported to her own bed after the failure.

"Thank you for making it," Aleon said. He gestured toward the woman. "Anna, my fiancée. Though I suppose you knew her."

Anna glanced at Hana, a small smile on her lips. Seemed like they had made up. "I hired her to look after you," she said, to her fiancé.

Allan excused himself and said he would wait outside. When he closed the door, Hana sat on a chair Anna was showing her, facing Aleon. "Mr. Fox let me know you had something to tell me," she immediately said, unwilling to beat around the bush. The sooner she'd be out of this place, the better she'd feel.

Aleon nodded, eyebrows furrowed, hands nervously clasped on his lap. "Anna told me what happened when I came to myself. About—the day at the bar."

As he stayed silent, Hana encouraged him to go on. "What about it?"

He inhaled deep. "I wanted to apologize. I wasn't myself then but it was still me fighting you. I'm deeply sorry for all the hurt I caused."

Taken aback, she blinked. "You don't have to apologize for that. I of all people know you couldn't control it," she said, only later realizing the little slip up in her reply—and hoping he didn't pick up on the information.

"Did you know, then?"

"I didn't until the doctors told me," she lied. She had known he had been infected the moment he showed the symptoms, but she couldn't tell him that. She'd rather not let him on her link to the Whisper.

He nodded. "Still. Sick or not, it was my fault." He shifted on his bed. "There was another woman, too. Is she all right?"

She frowned, wondering who he was talking about until the waitress who had given the alert came back to her mind. The woman he had attacked before Yazel brought her away. "She's okay," she said. "Last time I checked, she only had minor bruises. Nothing big, don't worry."

More nods. He wasn't saying much, but the shame was painted all over his face. It was strange, she realized. That shame of all emotions stood in his eyes. No fear or anger. Just shame and guilt. As if he blamed himself for being a victim. "The doctors told me I was sick," he started, his voice void of any heaviness, as though he was talking about the weather. "But I don't believe a word of it."

She flinched. On her seat, Anna didn't budge. Something in her gaze said that this was something they had already talked about, she and her fiancé. "How come?"

"Because I just know. It's not an illness. There was someone following me for weeks and I think they have some part of responsibility in what's been happening to me."

Shit. He was on to something. He was on to the _truth_.

Hana opened her mouth, unsure of what to say. She couldn't lie to him and tell him no one was after him because that would break the trust he seemed to have in her—the man knew what he was saying and that was clearly a certitude he held on to. But she couldn't either tell him the Whisper was the culprit. First, because he would panic, and second because no one was supposed to know yet that the Whisper could turn random people into puppets.

"A man?" she repeated, feigning surprise. "Have you told the doctors?"

"No. They'd tell me I imagined things." He looked at his hand, tracing the lines on his hand. "They told me the flower on my palm was a hallucination. That I imagined it. But I know I didn't."

Her eyebrows knitted together. She couldn't blame the doctors here because those were just the orders they had been given. To tell the victims that the tattoo of the amaryllis appearing on their palm was a hallucination—all the while forbidding communication between them, so they didn't realize it was all a scam. It was a grotesque lie but there was no logical explanation for this tattoo's sudden appearance to people who didn't know nen. To them, it was simply magic.

"I doubted a lot of things during this whole thing," he resumed talking, looking at her now. "But there is one thing I'm sure of, and nothing, no one could convince me otherwise: that tattoo is real and someone put it on me."

She simply leaned forward, curious. "Do you trust me enough to tell me more about it?"

"That's also why I wanted to see you," he admitted. "I didn't know if anyone would believe me or just listen to me. But Anna told me you weren't affiliated with this place, so I just thought… You've been watching over me for weeks. You've seen me at my worst. But surely you of all people would know I'm not insane and I'm not seeing things."

She had technically spied on him—and low key stalked him—, not watched over him, because she had been paid to do so. But it was best to not tell him that. She did remembering him bursting awake because ' _he'_ was here to hurt him, whoever that 'he' was—supposedly, the Whisper. "I see. I admit I first thought the alcohol was giving you hallucinations, but then I got the feeling that something was wrong, though I had no idea what it could be. I'm afraid I wasn't any more considerate than the doctors here were."

"But you believe me when I say I saw someone, right?"

She looked away for a second. Should she shut him down like all the others or give him a chance to speak? "I do," she finally decided. "You're in the best position to know what happened to you."

He visibly relaxed, even offering her a small smile. "Thank you. Sometimes I feel like the doctors here are less interested in helping me than they are in knowing what happened to me. I know they're working hard but I wish they'd not invalidate everything I say."

"I understand." The worst part was that she did. But her thoughts veered toward the person Aleon had seen, who had 'given him the tattoo'. Could Aleon have seen the Whisper? "Now, could you tell me more about this person you saw? The one who's been following you around?"

"Of course." He sat straighter. "I'm not entirely sure he's the reason I have this tattoo on my palm sometimes, but it's not a coincidence, I think. I remember very little but I think I saw him once. Never again after that, but I felt his presence. Does that make sense?" he added, fumbling with the words.

"Sort of. But what do you mean by his presence?"

"I felt that he was here. I heard his… whispers."

A chill ran down her spine. Her surprise wasn't feigned anymore. "That sounds terrifying."

"It was. I sometimes woke up in the middle of the night because I felt him near."

"How near?"

He frowned. "I don't know. I felt him around the hotel, usually."

"Okay. Um, I believe you said you saw him?"

"I did," he confirmed, with a lot more confidence than before now that she was listening to him. "Only once, and not his entire face, but I do remember him, in a memory I thought I had forgotten that gradually came back to my mind. One night, I was coming home alone after a business meeting and I got mugged on my way. A man pushed me in a dark alley and hit me in the stomach. I remember saying I'd give him cash if he didn't hurt me, that I had people waiting for me. But he didn't reply. He just said over and over that he was sorry," he recalled, his last words tainted with uneasiness. "Then I fainted and when I woke up, I didn't remember that night. It's only as I started drinking that it came back to my mind—usually in lucid dreams."

Her heart was pounding. She felt the thrill and the shock vibrate through her ribs. "Do you remember his face?" she asked, pronouncing every word distinctly.

But he shook his head. "He was covering almost all his face with a sort of balaclava and it was dark. I just remember at some point a car passing near us and lighting his face. That's when I saw he had green eyes."

"Green eyes," she repeated. The Whisper had green eyes and said sorry before cursing his victims and didn't kill children.

"The same as yours," Aleon added then, and she had to keep her anger tucked inside of her chest at the thought.

So instead of burning, she just nodded and smiled. "Thanks for telling me. It could be important and I'm glad you reached out to me."

"Well, thank you for actually listening to me. Anna was the only one who trusted I wasn't imagining things." He glanced at his fiancée then, and she smiled at him.

"Would there be any way to search for who did that to Aleon?" Anna asked, her gaze boring into Hana's as she stood up. She had already heard too much.

Hana leveled her gaze. "I personally can't, but there is one person who could help you and who will never doubt what you say. If you allow me, I'll tell them to meet you and see what they could do."

"Who?" Aleon asked.

She pointed toward the door. "Allan Fox. The man who brought me here. I've known him for years and he will never dismiss or invalidate you. If you allow me, I'll write a report to him and he may contact you later."

"I trust your decision," Aleon acquiesced. "I'm just glad I got this off my chest. And I hope there's a way to undo whatever this man did to me."

Again, she couldn't promise anything. "I hope too." She adjusted her bag on her shoulder. "Anyway, I have to leave now. Thanks again for receiving me and entrusting this information to me. I'll make sure to relay the message to someone more adequate to investigate."

"Thank you. For coming, listening, and helping. You relieved me a lot," Aleon said.

She couldn't help smiling at his words. Somehow, it felt good to know she had managed to help this man, even a little bit.

She bid Aleon and Anna goodbye afterward.

Allan was still waiting in the corridor when she came out of the room. "How did that go?" he asked, walking her away from the quarantine sector. Something in the way he looked at her made her feel like he knew what she was thinking, the questions she was asking herself, and, especially, the wrath she tried to choke at the thought that the Whisper had something in common with her.

"It went well. But he's not buying the lie the doctor prepared for him. He's convinced in what he saw—and I don't think it's a bad thing, actually. I'd even say it's a _great_ thing."

Allan frowned, slowing his pace. "Tell me everything."

"I'll write a report about everything he told me—I'd rather not be overheard. Give me an hour and you'll have all the info in your mailbox," she debriefed, all the while walking away. She didn't want to stay there where someone could see her and judge her. She didn't feel ready for that. She needed to go away and sort her thoughts out because God knew she needed it.

(A little voice cooed in her head, telling her to grab a bottle of vodka, but she pushed it away. It was still too soon after her last hangover. Too soon to break Thomas's heart. Too soon to make Killua worry again.)

Allan didn't insist. Instead, he walked her to the entrance, shielding her from any judgmental stare, and bid her goodbye once she was out. She was thankful for his help.

When she was in her car, she didn't waste a second driving away from the HCDS. She only started feeling safer when she was pulling into her building's parking. There, she sighed and rested her head against the headrest of her seat. Her temples were still pounding from Aleon's revelations.

Uncertainties remained.

How had Aleon accepted so readily that a tattoo could appear and disappear on his palm? Did he believe in magic or in the occult? Did he know any nen, in the end, despite the evidence she had found that proved the contrary? How did he feel the Whisper's presence even though he didn't know any nen?

Was he telling all the truth?

So many questions jostled in her mind, more than she could take. It should have kept her mind busy to try to put answers to these questions, but it didn't. She was still bitter and the fuming ashes of her anger were suffocating her. She couldn't stop thinking about the Whisper. She refused to think he regretted what he was doing, to believe a single second he could feel any compassion for his victims. She had spent all these years imagining him as a shadow with hands and a dark cloak and a black tattoo of an amaryllis on his palm. He couldn't just have green eyes and a face and _feelings_.

He couldn't be human.

But he had apologized to Aleon. He had saved that little girl before Coal could hurt her. He had never targeted parents or children in the past.

She shuddered.

He was a human being.

Just like her.

* * *

 **10:22 P.M.**

Hana's curiosity about Aleon had led her to dig deeper into his life but to no avail. There was nothing to explain how he had accepted so easily that a tattoo could magically appear and disappear on his hand, or whether he could have known any rudiment of nen.

And so, Aleon had become another piece of the puzzle that she couldn't fit anywhere. All she could do was tell Allan everything she knew and hope he would find where this puzzle piece fitted—and judging from his response, he would try his best for that. He had been so eager to question Aleon after receiving Hana's report she could only hope he hadn't barged into his room and flooded him with questions. That was just Allan and his overwhelming energy.

She leaned back in her seat, yawning, stretching her arms. She glanced at Elias, sitting at her desk, at this moment. If Allan had too much energy to spare, Elias clearly didn't have any to offer. It turned out Hana had been right about him.

They had been 'working' together for two hours already.

And he hadn't done a thing.

"Are you ever going to lend a hand?" she complained, leveling him with a long look.

He nonchalantly held out his hand to her. "Here."

She rolled her eyes. "Unbelievable."

"And yet, here I am."

She glared at him. He was reading a book. One of _her_ books. That he had shamelessly plucked from her bookshelf. "I'm working on _your_ folder. This is _your_ confidential information. It should be _you_ peeling through it and establishing what the enemies know about _you_ , not me."

"Heh, there's nothing confidential about me." He flashed a flirty grin. "I'm sure you're dying to find more about me."

"… I'm really not."

He pouted. The pout looked cute on him, but she couldn't help thinking of Killua's adorable pout and nothing compared to that. "Not even a little bit?"

"Not the slightest bit. I'm only trying to get work done and you're not helping at all."

He laughed, waving her off. And decidedly not taking her seriously. "I do help. I give you my support." She arched an eyebrow. "What? What's with the look?"

"If that's how you support people then how exactly do you let them down?"

"Oh come _oooon_ ," he sang, a smirk hanging by his lips. "You know I'm never gonna give you up. Never gonna let you down. Never gonna run around and desert you."

She tried to choke a laughter—and failed. "You!"

He grinned. "You laughed just there. You did. I saw you. No denying."

"Elias, you're very useful when it comes to joking and fooling around. But otherwise, you're completely useless."

"Ouch. My feelings are hurt. I'm gonna cry."

"You think I care?" she shot back, grabbing the book out of his hands.

…

It was an erotica romance novel she had read a year before that. The page he was at was ending right when the protagonists were undressing.

She cast yet another long look toward him.

He snickered. "You have some nice taste in books." He leaned on, flashing a teasing smirk. "Do you get flustered when you read them?"

She tipped her chin up. "I can keep a straight face through a lot of things. Like reading smut or punching you in the face."

He laughed, again. She let out a little huff. "Okay, you're too good," he replied. "You could punch me anytime, to be honest. I love strong and fierce women."

"Yeah, well I love hardworking and intelligent men and you're neither of those."

He feigned to think. "Well, you're not wrong." He gave her a _very_ knowing look, and she knew then she had made a big mistake. "But I do know a very hardworking and intelligent guy if you need. I wonder if you'd keep a straight face with him. You don't need to be introduced, though."

"Oh, shut up. Stop talking nonsense and help me instead."

"Help you with what? Getting his attention? Trust me, you don't need me for that."

She resisted the urge to ask him what he meant by that, aware that her cheeks were getting a tiny bit too warm to her liking. "Whatever. I guess I'll have to give you something to do."

He shrugged, an innocent smile on his lips. "I'm a treasure hunter, not a crime hunt—ow." He looked at what she had thrown on him. "What's that?"

"Your next mission. Since you're a treasure hunter, you won't have any trouble digging that up, right?"

"Whaaat?" He whined. "Can't I just be a retired hunter for one night? I'm still recovering. I'm sooo weak. Look." He proceeded to slumber on the chair and fake a look of deep pain. "I'm suffering. I'm on the verge of death. Ow."

But she crossed her arms. "I'll tell Killua."

Elias immediately stood up—which resulted in real pain, this time. "Okay, you're gonna play the hard way, huh?" He sighed, took the paper she was handing him, the flash drive she had thrown at him, and he exaggerated his limping as he got to the door. The sight itself was hilarious.

"There's everything you need inside the flash drive. You've got a couple of documents to find for me. They're probably in the archives of the Forstorm Library. I'm counting on you. I'm sure you can be useful in a way or another."

A dramatic sigh was her only reply. He turned around when he reached the door, casting one last pleading look.

"No."

He pouted. "No fun," he mumbled as he opened the door and exited the room.

She watched him close the door with amusement. He wasn't as efficient as Killua, but he was fun enough. She could only hope he would come back with the documents she needed. She sighed, flipping through the documents in his folder. It wasn't like she had expected him to help, but at least she had tried.

Her phone buzzed right at this moment and her heart missed a bit.

But it wasn't Killua. She deflated when she saw it was only a spam e-mail.

God. She was too deep. She had been thinking about him non-stop since he had left this morning.

… Or well, she always thought about him non-stop. But the difference was that she couldn't see him and know he was feeling all right—and get her fix of Killua. And so, she had been jumping and lunging at her phone since that morning, waiting impatiently for a call or a text that said he had arrived and he was okay.

Perhaps she was impatient to just hear his voice, too. She had gotten so used to have him around all the time, eating together, working together, watching the news together, playing basketball together to blow some steam, cuddling in front of her TV as they fell asleep… together. She pretty much saw him all the time and being cut from him so suddenly was harsh. She was craving his arms around her.

She glanced at the calendar hanging above the screens.

Two weeks.

He would be far from her for two entire weeks.

She closed her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose.

When exactly did she fall so deep?

A vibrant pop song popped her bubble. It took her about half a second to realize that pop song was the ringtone associated to Killua in her phone, and half a second more to grab her phone and answer it.

"Hey!"

"Hi there," he said, as calm as ever.

She exhaled. A knot she hadn't been aware of untied in her chest. "You arrived at your hotel?"

"Yep."

"How was your flight?"

"I was in first class, so I'll let you imagine," he answered with the hint of a smile in his voice.

"And the hotel?"

"A five-star hotel standing atop a clear hill, courtesy of my hunter license. I'm enjoying the view as I speak. Is that convincing?"

"I'm jealous," she mumbled. "You're spending two weeks in a five-star hotel and I'm here alone."

"You're not alone. Where's Elias?"

She sighed. "Elias is nice, but he's not you."

"He's lightyears away from me. But is he helping, at least?"

"I used the 'I'm gonna tell Killua' card and then he did."

He chuckled. "You make it sound like I'm his father."

"What does that make me? His mother? I feel like I'm _babysitting_ him."

He stayed silent for a moment. "I love how you immediately assumed you'd be the mother of my kids," he mused in a smooth voice.

She blinked. Again, her cheeks warmed up. Again, yes, because that had become the routine ever since she had met him. "Shut up. Nobody else would accept to bear with your antics."

"Nobody but you? That's almost a confession. 'Killua, I want to be the one to bear with your annoying ass forever. And then bear your annoying kids as well.'"

"I don't think you should be flattered if someone ever confesses that way to you," she noted.

He stirred something in a glass mug—probably hot chocolate since that was all he drank. "You're right. I much prefer 'you're a rebel, you can't accept being caged.' It's so much more romantic."

A wave of heat took over her face. She puckered her lips. "Hmmph. Okay. I'll go for the first confession instead."

"Nice. I didn't know you'd be so ready to have my annoying kids, Hana."

"You do realize that you and I having kids together is not a good idea, right? Imagine the monsters we'd make. So many petty genes matched together. Imagine the disaster."

"Think instead about how hot our kid would grow out to be," he mused.

"Your white hair with my lovely green eyes? Deadly combo," she admitted.

"A beautiful disaster."

She smiled. "Right. By the way, did you have dinner?"

"Here you go, Mama Hana is here." He let go of his spoon. "Yes, I had dinner. I should ask that to _you_ since _you_ have bad tendencies to skip dinner when you work."

She shifted on her seat. "I ate. Elias was hungry and he kept bugging me until we had dinner together."

He snorted. "He does sound like a kid."

They went on about their respective schedule. Killua would meet Lippo for the first time in the morning to plan the meeting with Baroque. Apparently, no one had ever had the guts to ask for a visit—except Killua. Obviously, that did nothing to relieve her nervousness.

She told him about her meeting with Aleon Dove—and about his revelations. He listened the whole time while she rambled about his 'principles', about what Allan had found and the information Aleon had given her. She didn't tell him about the strange feeling she had had after learning all these facts about the Whisper. Not because she wanted to hide it from him, but because she didn't feel ready to talk about it. She had no idea how to put words on the emotions—and she preferred when he was near her, when he could hold her hand while she talked. That small contact was so important to her.

They hung up after that. And her bubble popped. Her cloud set her down and evaporated. The buzzing warmth faded away, leaving her a little disoriented. She was back to the real world.

She stared at her phone, opening the texting conversation with him. 'Good night nerd,' she sent. With a heart.

He replied within a second. 'Good night future mother of my nerd kids.'

(With a star. Turned out Killua liked stars.)

She smiled fondly—and sent a giant middle finger emoji to him. To which he replied with a Lenny face.

Then they both left the conversation. And she was alone.

She sighed.

She already missed him.

* * *

Since Elias had refused to examine his own folder, Hana to do it herself to know what their enemies knew of them.

The folder contained various information about Elias—including a copy of his criminal record. The problem was, Elias's criminal record was a huge question mark fraught with doubts. He had been accused a dozen times of thievery but no charges had ever been held against him—since there was no proof anywhere. It was a huge patchwork of 'perhaps he did it' and 'he might just be the thief!' and 'I saw him!' without any 'I can prove it's actually him'.

The only thing was, all the items Elias had been accused of stealing were his.

The weapons, however…

Other important documents included hospital bills for a hospital in Kamaros—a small Greek island. Apparently, about six years ago, when he was fourteen, Elias had been admitted to his village's local hospital for three weeks. The bill covered his stay at the ER, the intense care of the doctors, a few X-rays, and…

And psychiatric care.

She frowned as she kept going through the documents. It was no longer her professionalism driving her. She found prescriptions for antidepressants, funeral bills dated two years before his stay at his hospital, and a document legalizing his uncle's adoption of him.

She shut the folder close, ashamed of herself for going so deep in his life against his will. Nosiness or not, it was extremely rude and insensitive. She bit her lip, torn between her curiosity and her will to respect his private life. The documents and photos she had seen—they weren't hers.

She pushed his folder aside, putting it far enough to not be tempted to look inside.

Her doorbell rang at this moment startling her like a thief caught red-handed. When she opened the door, she met with Elias's smirk—but she didn't have the heart to scold him.

"I'm back. Bet you missed me, right?"

"Whatever, come in," she mumbled, closing the door when he walked in. His leg was getting better but he still had a slight limp. "Did you find what I asked for?"

"Yep. I'm actually a good treasure hunter, you know." He handed her the flash drive she had given him. "Everything's inside."

She smiled. "Thanks. Now you're helping."

He swayed as he walked. "I know. I'm so useful. I bet you couldn't do that without me."

"I could actually. But thanks."

He cast an amused glance her way as they entered her workroom. However, when she saw his folder sitting on her desk, the proof of her guilt, she lost all her bossiness.

Elias didn't miss the change of expression. "You either missed me a lot or something's bothering you."

"Hmm."

He sat on his chair, watching her walk to her own with an inquisitive look. "I know I'm not Killua, but you can talk to me."

She rose surprised eyes toward him—damn him, now she felt twice as guilty. "I can't believe you just said that."

"Well, I figure my babysitting includes something like that, no?"

"Baby— _look_ , if one of us is acting like a babysitter here, that's me. Not you," she argued.

He leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms beneath his head—such a Killua-ish gesture. "Good then. Since I'm such a baby I can't work."

She rolled her eyes. But when she saw his playful smile, she couldn't help smiling back. He had a contagious smile. "It's not like you did much before that either."

He chuckled. "Fair enough. Now tell me, what's wrong?"

She only glanced at his folder. "I think… I saw some stuff I shouldn't have seen."

He blinked. "Oh. You saw that?"

"… I suppose we're both referring to the same 'that'. But yeah, I was peeling through your folder and I think I saw some personal stuff. Sorry about that."

But he just shrugged. "It's cool. I'm the one who refused to work on my own stuff." He leaned on his elbow, smiling at her with amusement. "But I have a feeling apologizing wasn't your only… motive? Are you curious?"

She squirmed in her seat. God, yes, she was curious. But she was in no place to be nosy.

He chuckled. "You're just too cute, I can totally see why Killua's digging you."

"Don't change the subject," she muttered—though she was particularly content that Elias thought Killua was 'digging' her.

"Okay, babe. So what got you all worked up? You got worried for me?"

She didn't make a note of him calling her 'babe'. After all, he may or may not be calling Killua the same way—although that wasn't the smartest move, judging from Killua's glare whenever he did that. "Actually, yes. A bit."

He put his hand to his heart. "Oh. Such a sweet pie. You have just unlocked my tragic backstory."

Shy eyes scrutinized him, trying to see through his act. But it wasn't an act—from what she saw. He was genuine. Genuinely joking about his tragic past. "I feel bad asking, but… what happened?"

He fell silent, examining her. The gold halo in his olive eyes was fiercer as a rare air of seriousness settled on his face. When he leaned on the table, her eyes fell on his leather bracelet so tightly fastened around his wrist. Somehow, she wondered what lay underneath.

He didn't miss the gesture and smiled. "Well, I was a suicidal teen. I may or may not have done… stupid stuff. That's all there is. Ain't like that anymore so I think I got better."

The revelation hit her in the chest, all her suspicions confirmed. "Why?" she found herself asking, at a loss for words. She couldn't possibly apologize or say anything heartfelt—she wasn't sure that was what he wanted.

"Heh, I think I was depressed. I felt lonely without my parents. I couldn't picture myself living a future."

"Do you still feel that way?"

Surprised flashed in his eyes. "You mean if I want to kill myself?"

"No, I mean, can you picture a future for yourself now?"

He pondered her answer for a moment. "I see myself retrieving my parents' jewels."

"That's all?"

"Yeah."

"What about yourself?"

He seemed sincerely moved when he looked at her. "I don't know. I'll figure it out when I complete my goal. I never really put much thought into it."

"Why?"

"The jewels are taking all my time. They were the lever that pulled me out anyway. So I prefer not to think about what's _after_ that."

"Why?"

He chuckled. "Dammit, I feel like I'm talking to a kid. You give them one answer, they fire back with another 'why'."

She blushed, looking away for a second. "You don't have to answer."

"Nah, I didn't mean it like that." He extended his legs in front of him, crossing his arms. "I really don't know, though. I've never put much thought into it—I just avoided thinking about it. I'm still getting used to the whole 'planning your future' thing so it's hard to see past my current goal."

"But you have a life of your own," she replied, then flinched, afraid that she was getting ahead of herself. "I'm no one to give you lessons, I suck at a lot of things, but I think you could do some pretty amazing things besides finding your parents' jewels."

He considered her reply. "That's the kindest thing I've ever been told. You really are a kind soul, aren't you?"

"It's not a matter of kindness… I'm genuine."

His slips stretched in a lazy smile. "I'll figure this out eventually, when I finally find all the jewels. I find it pretty cool that I'm actually considering it. It's not a luxury I could have afforded when I was fourteen. Even if I don't know everything, at least I give myself the option to think about it someday."

She returned his smile. "That's great then. That you give yourself this option. You'll go far."

He winked at her. "Keep being this sweet and I'll be tempted to steal you from Killua."

"Stop it. There's nothing between Killua and me," she said, a little too dejected.

He arched an eyebrow. "Your voice definitely says you wish there was."

She sighed. "We should work now."

"I've worked already," he complained, reaching for the erotica book, but she pushed it away from him. "Hey, things were getting interesting!"

"Things are getting interesting here, too," she said as she shoved a folder in his face. "Study this! That's what I found about Faem. You need to know who we're up against."

"Heeeeh?" He sulked. "But."

"No buts. I'll question you afterward."

"I'm majoring in Mafia Leaders Knowledge. Great."

She smiled. "Consider this one of your many skills."

* * *

He was running. Running for his secret and his life in dark corridors. Left, right, go to that room, exit through another one. He had to keep going. He couldn't stop.

They would catch up with him.

Why had it come down to this? How had it even happened? He was supposed to be uncatchable. Fleeting, like a whisper, right? The monster in their macabre tale, the whisper they all heard. Or so they said. So how had they managed to corner him? How could they even keep up with him?

 _No time for questions. Just run._

He was. He was already running. But he couldn't go faster and he heard them close the gap between him and them.

He rushed inside a room with no door, threw away the table in his way. There was a window; he had to jump here.

But just as he darted to the window, a gunshot resounded, followed by a sharp pain in his thigh. He cried out in pain, falling face first to the ground with a dull thud.

"I touched him!" a feminine voice said.

He rolled to his back, breathless, his sight so blurry he couldn't make out what he saw. The room was spinning.

 _Don't waste time! Run!_

He sat up, pressing his hand to the wound. There was very little light filtering through the clouds, but there was just enough to see the glimmer of a gun's slick barrel pointed toward him.

"Don't move," the same voice said. It was deep and fierce and confident—but also young.

The other pursuer sidled up to his partner. A boy, shorter than the girl. And less confident, too, judging from his hesitant stance.

He leveled his pursuers, all the while thinking of an escape plan. He could make a run between them to the door—giving them his back was risky; the girl was skilled enough to shoot him while running, she wouldn't hesitate shooting him if he went to the window.

As if she had read his thoughts, she took a step sideward, tightening her grip on her gun. "Don't even think of it."

He gritted his teeth. She was going to be a problem.

 _Kill them._

He shook the thought off. They were too young. The lights were briefly flickering on and off so he couldn't see them well, but one thing about them was sure.

They weren't older than fifteen.

 _Kill them._

He could _not_. He had done the worst things, but he couldn't kill children. He wouldn't stoop that low.

 _You have to._

The children leaped at him. He swiftly stood up and jumped away from them, bolting toward the door now that the door wasn't guarded.

Or so he thought.

The shelf near the door exploded, the blast sending him back inside. He coughed as clouds of dust flew in the room. Startled, he swiveled to check for the source, but the girl was already on him, landing a nen-packed punch on his cheek. He guarded himself with aura, taking her punch full-on and using the momentum to stand back up and escape through the window.

But another explosion shoved him to the floor. Shards of wood pierced through his skin—it was the table, this time.

He found his balance, jumping to his feet, narrowly missing a bullet aimed at his shoulder—ever since she had been there, the girl only aimed for non-vitals. He swiftly ran along the wall, avoiding another myriad of bullets coming his way, one of them brushing his arm. He had counted the bullets, and she had fired too many for them to be normal bullets.

Then came a third explosion.

The booming sound rang in his ears long after it happened. His head violently hit the wall as he was propelled, the hem of his cloak taking fire. He put away the fire before it burnt him entirely, clenching his fist. The amaryllis was burning on his palm.

"Don't move!" the boy yelled, panting, his hands wide open in front of himself.

The girl still had her damned gun pointed toward him.

He narrowed his eyes. They were no ordinary kids. The girl was conjuring her own infinite ammunition and the boy exploded whatever he touched—he would be in trouble if those hands touched him.

(How ironic, that kind of worry coming from him with the cursed amaryllis branded on his palm.)

"Stay still," the girl said. "We're not going to kill you. We don't want to kill you."

Of course they weren't. They wanted him alive—the Whisper arrested and jailed, now that would make it to the news!

He couldn't let them.

 _Just kill them. Get rid of them. They're in your way._

He caught his breath, resting his back against the wall for a moment. They wouldn't move until he did. That was his advantage.

 _Kill them!_

He didn't have to! He only needed to disarm them. That would be just enough.

As though to prove himself right, he attacked them. They reacted like professionals would—with no surprise, defending their ground all the while blocking his way.

His confusion grew as they countered half of his attacks and stood up after taking the other half. They wouldn't give up. They wouldn't let him go. They were forcing him to use more force than he had intended to use. Hell, they were forcing him to _fight_!

Weren't they scared for their lives? Had they understood he wouldn't kill them?

 _They won't let go of you until you kill them._

He couldn't do that.

He _couldn't_ kill them.

He wouldn't be able to live with that guilt.

Anything, _everything_ , but not children.

He could push past them without ending their lives—he had to find a way. He _would_ find a way.

He had to get serious for that.

He dodged a bullet from the girl, leaping for her. He grabbed his dagger fastened around his arm and before she could shoot again, he sent a powerful surge of nen toward her to stun her, grabbed her wrist and slashed through her stomach. All in a second.

She yelped in pain but he ignored her, throwing her away to disable the boy—the explosions were getting dangerous.

The boy understood that he was coming from him. He put his outstretched arms in front of him.

He thought he would make it before the boy made his move.

He was fast enough, right?

Fleeting, like a whisper, right?

 _Right?_

The boy's hands glowed white.

He only had time to instinctively guard his face with his arm before the explosion washed away everything in his sight. The pursuers, the furniture, the concrete fending itself—it all disappeared.

All that remained was the deafening ring in his ears.

When he came to himself, the room was silent. He sat on the floor his chest heaving with effort. He quickly caught up with what had happened—survival had taught him to think fast.

Relief flooded him when he realized the children were down—he could go without hurting them. He checked nothing had burnt during the explosion as he promptly stood up.

 _You think?_

His short-lived relief deflated. His glove was burnt, his tattoo peeking through the hole.

He paled.

Had they seen the tattoo?

 _Take a guess._

He swallowed. His breath came in short gasps as he stared at the exposed amaryllis, the secret he had tried to hide so desperately.

 _Get rid of them._

No!

 _You can't let them live after what they saw._

 _Not without infecting them._

 _You can't let them go._

 _You have to kill them._

But they were children— _children_! Both of them, children no older than his own were, with baby faces and families and lives they had to live, lives that his own children couldn't live!

He couldn't end their lives on a mere doubt!

 _You must._

His breath caught. A fist seized his heart, gripping it with brutal force.

 _You know that you must._

 _Even the slightest doubt is a danger._

He couldn't.

 _They found you once. If you let them go, they will find you again. And again. And again. They will track you, wherever you hide. Wherever you disappear. They will find you._

 _And they will find your secret._

He gasped.

 _Choose quick. You're not safe. You can't afford to be sentimental now._

 _It's those children, or you._

 _Protect your secret._

It was unfair. He didn't _have_ a choice. They couldn't find his secret. They _couldn't_. He couldn't ruin everything he had strived for, not for a moment of weakness.

He had a secret to guard.

He rose a trembling hand. The tattoo smarted on his hand as the flower conjured out of his hand, ready to inflict its curse. He was breathing hard, watching his hand shake as the petals bloomed out of his skin, feeling sweat bead on his forehead and make a path on his face.

The boy was short of breath, quivering on the ground. His last attack had left him defenseless. His chest was so easily accessible it almost looked like an offer.

 _Do it. Protect your secret._

He lunged for the boy's chest, shutting his eyes close.

And he did it.

It only took him a split second. A split second for the stamens to plunge into the boy's heart and unleash the curse on him. A split second for a life to collapse and tumble down into the void.

A split second.

A mere butterfly causing a hurricane.

A time so short it couldn't be measured.

One moment he was. The other, he wasn't anymore.

He knew the exact moment the boy wasn't anymore. He would know, after all. He had given him the strongest poison this damned amaryllis could produce, a lightning disease gnawing him to the core. It wasn't the moment the boy reached for his own chest, right where the stamens had pierced him. It wasn't even the moment he exploded his own heart.

No.

The boy had died the moment he had been cursed.

A blast threw him against the wall, washing away the boy's screams. His back hit the concrete and he rose his arms to protect himself from the heat and power of the explosion, gritting his teeth. Soon enough, the intoxicating smell of blood filled the room.

When silence fell again in the room and the only noises were his quiet breathing and the erratic panting of the girl, he realized his hand hurt. When he reached for it, feeling the wound, he winced. The hole in his glove had extended and his skin underneath it was hot with pain.

Then came the understanding of what he had done. It hit him in the heart first, then the head, then the stomach, and he nearly threw up. His legs felt weak. His body trembled. His eyes widened. His breathing picked up. He clasped his healthy hand to his mouth, supporting himself to the wall.

He had killed the boy.

He had done it.

He had killed this child.

 _No time to think about that._

He looked around himself, trying to move past the debris covering the floor. The clinking noise of broken glass somehow reached him through the heartbeats pulsing in his ears.

 _There's one left._

His eyes darted around the dark room, trying to localize the source of the noise through his hazy thoughts.

He didn't have time to rest.

He didn't have time to regret.

He couldn't stop now. Not when there was still a risk, a mere possibility that this girl could find him again. To avenge her friend, to complete her mission.

So he swallowed his nausea and his tears and the voices murmuring in his ear that it was all his fault, all his fault. He swallowed them and he moved, praying that the girl had died and that he wouldn't have to do it himself and bear the weight of her death forever.

But then, she started moving too. Crawling on the floor with the kind of energy only fear gave, fueled by desperation. It shattered him to hear her whimper as she dragged her sore body through the room. And it shattered him even more when he realized she wasn't running away from him.

She was trying to join her friend.

He froze. He didn't see her in the dark, but he knew she had found out. When she gasped and sobbed and called her friend's name over and over, murmuring 'no' over and over.

Again, his legs were threatening to give in. He took a weak step forward, trying to muster his strength.

 _Move._

He shook his head. He had to think clearly. He had to think about one thing only: his secret. That was what he needed to protect. And that was what he was going to protect.

No matter who he had to kill.

So he made a way to the girl. Tracking her in the dark. Past the broken glass and upturned furniture and sparse sheets of paper littering the floor. Past his own damn guilt clawing at him, clinging to his legs to keep him back. He had something to protect. That would drive him forward no matter what stood in his way.

A few seconds later, he was towering over her.

She barely noticed him, still trying to wake the dead boy, her voice broken by her sobs.

His hand smarted. He summoned the amaryllis, the beautiful death flower that would end this girl's life.

He rose his hand. Slowly. Extended his arm toward her. Ignored her wails.

Then, the girl looked up, her face still wet with tears and snot running down her nose. As the lights flickered, he saw her face from up close for the first time. Her eyes, wide open, staring at him. Spring green, warm like the lush meadows of his hometown. Her nose, small and perky. Her face, a perfect oval.

She was the copy of his daughter.

His sweet, beautiful daughter, with her black curls and her smile and her freckles and her strange habit to remove pickles from her sandwiches. His little girl, gone for good, gone too son.

He was about to close her eyes again.

 _Do it!_

He lunged for her.

The curse infected her.

She screamed.

He bolted to the window. Away from this pit of death.

And he ran. And ran. And ran. Until his lungs begged for air and his muscles throbbed with pain. Until he was so far he couldn't smell the blood and hear her screams and feel their ghosts chained to his ankles.

He only stopped when he reached the woods. As soon as he did, he fell to his knees and ripped the balaclava from his head and retched and cried and cried until his eyes burnt from the tears and his muscles were sore with exhaustion. He grabbed his head, rocking back and forth, desperate to wipe away that image of those children facing death, facing _him_.

When had he fallen so low? How could he allow himself?

 _You had to._

Did he have to, _really_? Wasn't there another way?

 _Was there another way, for_ you _?_

He wrapped his arms around himself and closed his eyes. Sure enough, the baby faces were still there, covered in blood, frozen in death. A boy and a girl, two young souls with so many things to live, so many moments he had robbed from them.

He took a deep breath, wiping the tears away with the back of his hand. He struggled to stand up, staggering to the closest tree for support. And he looked up. His sins were bleeding in himself, his tattooed hand scathing with the guilt.

He had killed those children.

He had killed them.

He still heard her scream echo in his head, no matter how far. The girl with his daughter's face and the eyes of his hometown meadows. The same eyes he had closed forever. He still heard her, and he forever would.

He deserved it.

* * *

 **3:05 A.M.**

He gasped awake, his heart pounding furiously, his hand burning as though it had been branded. He cast a wild look around him, listing all the possible escapes in the room—window, window, door leading to a room with windows, trapdoor to the underground ten meters from here. He checked in the bed—the little one was asleep.

Only then did he calm down. There was no ambush, and no dead kids in that room. No boy exploding his own heart and no girl with his daughter's face. There was only him and his sins and his guilt—and the little bundle sleeping in the bed.

He exhaled.

The little puppy on the bed stirred, rolling to her back. It was a stray puppy they had found in the street—abandoned by her masters. He reached for her belly, gently rubbing it. She grabbed his hand then—all the while sleeping. Like a baby would. He found himself smiling at the sight.

He closed his eyes, letting his head rest against the wall.

He had been having nightmares about that night ever since it had happened. Dreams where the children demanded their lives back and he had nothing to give them. Dreams where they wailed and latched onto his neck and cried and blamed him for everything. How old would they be if they were still alive? Eighteen? Nineteen?

But it had been a long time since he had relived that dreadful night. The guilt had never faded—it never let go of its prey. But he had learned to live with it, yet another weight to add on his shoulders, a voice pushed to the back of his mind. He had chosen this life, right?

He stared at the tattoo on his hand, the lethal masterpiece spreading from his palm to his fingers. When he was younger, long before he had children of his own, he had tried to remove it, that cursed gift he had inherited from his mother. He had tried to cut it and burn it but nothing would do. He would bleed and he would burn but the tattoo would stay there, still beautiful, still deadly. Still his.

Just like his sins.

Nothing could erase them. Not remorse nor tears nor prayers. The stunned faces of all the people he had killed. The grief painted on their faces during their last seconds of life. The fear—of him.

The bloody hole in that boy's chest. The broken face of that girl who looked like his daughter.

Nothing could erase them.

Not time, not will. And certainly not guilt.

They would keep haunting him.

The echoes of his sins.

* * *

 **A/N:** Lolol. Yeah. Literally twenty chapters after the prologue, you finally have the Whisper's version of _the_ mission. I can't wait to read your reactions! Were you shocked? Did you like it? What are your speculations? :D I really wanted to show that the Whisper isn't just a guy who kills for the sake of it. He is human—and Hana hates that. It's so much simpler when the bad guys are all bad, right? Makes it easier to hate them.

The mini dialogue between Hana and Killua was completely random but I really enjoyed writing it. The whole thing about kids? It was cute in my head. Hopefully I, managed to make it sound cute.

Also, yeah, as you could see in the last chapter, Elias isn't all happy-go-lucky. Now you can guess what his bracelet is hiding :') I really feel for him (even if I'm the reason he's like this lolol).

Anyway, I hope you liked the chapter. **Let me know what you thought in a review!**

Next chapter is called **The Memory Thief** andddd there are a lot of revelations. I mean, it introduces a concept I've worked on a lot, that I literally waited twenty chapters to show you! And it's just a tiny introduction. I can't wait to show you the extent of it. Believe it or not, the plot will keep thickening lolol.

Until then, I'll leave you with a preview of it!

See you in two weeks!

* * *

 _Killua's visit to Baroque's cell was scheduled for that day at six o'clock. He couldn't say he was impatient to converse with a maniac serial killer but the sooner he'd be rid of him, the better he'd be._

 _Besides, Baroque had answers._

 _And answers were precisely what Killua needed at this moment._

 _He finished buttoning his shirt, then folded the sleeves up to his forearms. He knew people usually thought button-ups looked better that way—but he mostly imagined Hana's face whenever he folded his sleeves, the way her eyes peeked at his arms when she thought he wasn't looking. That might have been half the reason he preferred wearing the sleeves up—the other half being that he, too, thought it looked hot, on people of all genders._

… _Then he remembered he was going to meet a psychopath who wrote his hints with his victims' blood. He nearly unfolded the sleeves at the thought._

 _A loud noise resembling a truck made him flinch as he turned around. His phone was ringing—and being particularly noisy at it. He walked to the desk where his phone was still emitting dubious noises to take it, picking his brush on the way._

 _Then he saw who was calling._

 _And his heart missed a beat._

 _He let go of his brush and grabbed his phone like his life depended on it. For a moment, all he knew was relief and elation. Then it was worry. And curiosity. And, again, relief._

 _He picked up the call._

" _Alluka?"_


	22. The Memory Thief

**A/N** : Hi guys! Hope you're all good, and if you had any finals, then I congrats for surviving and I hope it went okay!

On the news side, chap 23 is finally done! After all this time. I really put my heart and soul in that chapter lmao. It's huge, fluffy, romantic, and a tiny bit daring, annnd you're gonna love it, really lolol. But until then you're gonna have to bear with me for two more chapters, including this one. Which I personally like, it introduces a major part of the plot!

On the random side, I think I never mentioned that I have a dog, right? So let me introduce Roy, my eight-month-old Maltese puppy, who's at once a sweetheart and a little shit. (Right now he's running in circles repeatedly for an unknown reason?)

Fic recs wise, I'd recommend _Refuge Beneath your Wings_ by **Raven100104**! It's a really good KilluaOC fic, and I love the OC! If you like witty dialogues and spot-on emotional scenes, then give it a read ;)

Anyway, as usual, you'll find replies to guest reviews below, and then there's the chapter! So here you go, read it, and I hope you'll like it.

* * *

Replies to guest reviews:

 **SpicyWolf** : Thank you so much for reviewing! It made me really happy! All these compliments omg thank you *A* And don't worry, the kiss is for soon! I've been hinting at it in my A/Ns for quite some time, I don't know if anyone noticed XD I hope you'll like it ;)

* * *

Chapter 21: **The Memory Thief**

* * *

 **Sunday, May 10th**

 **10:07 P.M.**

Rule number one: never use the same disguise twice. You had black hair the first time you met them? Well, now you can rock a lovely shade of chestnut. Add some brown contacts, flowy clothes, and a few accessories—glasses for instance— and you're ready.

Rule number two: impersonate your role. You are a technician called to fix the computer system that 'mysteriously' started acting up. Dress like one, act like one, talk like one, _become_ one. And know what you're talking about.

(Tip: you're the reason their computer system is acting up. But don't tell anyone.)

Rule number three: learn how they function. The building you're targeting, the Mulgrad and Associates, typically has its own technicians to keep the system functioning. Except this time, for some _very strange reason_ , the problem occurred at night and the night shift was unable to help… hence the need to call you, an emergency technician working at _TechGamshill_ , whose number was conveniently marked as the one to call in case of an important problem.

(Tip number two: you might be the reason for that, too. But shh, quiet.)

Rule number four: get yourself fake identification documents. A fake TechGamshill professional card, a fake ID corresponding to your current disguise… Use them at the security check at the building entrance. Let them search you—it's not like they could find an In-concealed nen gun, after all.

Rule number five: pretend to work. Frown whenever something seems a bit hard to solve. Sigh when you find a new issue. Mumble some intelligible swear words that would make your grandma blush in embarrassment. It's all part of embracing your character.

(Tip number three: you're not actually helping. You're just a very convincing actress.)

Rule number six: beware of the cameras. You already know where they are, but now you must find out how to deactivate them without looking suspicious. Nothing better than a power cut, then. Not only does it deactivate all the cameras, it also gives you the perfect cover to slip away from your 'work'. While you're convincingly pretending to work, find how to cut the power without leaving any trace.

This is when the power gets cut, in your plan. Everything is suddenly plunged into darkness, people are sighing and whining, a few snobby people are yelling that this is unacceptable and that they are outraged, and employees are desperately trying to get them to calm down.

Everyone and everything is confused.

Now's the time.

(You can allow yourself a little smile. You're the reason for all that ruckus, after all.)

Rule number seven: take action.

You're all set.

* * *

"I can't believe the power hasn't been restored yet!"

"This is such an outrage!"

"Somebody do something!"

"Bring some guards with flashlights to protect the guests!"

"I can't see anything!"

Hana moved quietly in the corridors, mentally snickering at all the pestering voices coming from the main rooms. There was nothing like the absolute satisfaction of being an inconvenience to posh people. Especially after the looks of disdain they cast at her technician disguise—oh, look at her, a lowly worker who actually had to do something to earn her living!

She did feel bad for the poor guards coming from the whole building to calm the guests, but it wasn't like she could afford to care for other people when she had a mission to take care of.

"This way!"

She swiftly retreated to the dark as two guards ran by with their flashlights. When they were gone, she followed the wall until she recognized the staircase she had seen in the building's plans. Mulgrad's office was on the fifteenth floor—which was, ten floors above. It was safe to assume it would be empty, especially after the commotion.

So she climbed the stairs. Running as silently as she could, guided by Sae's ever present help. She didn't cross anyone's way while climbing the stairs; soon enough, she was on the fifteenth floor, moving in the dark to get to the office.

A guard passed by, calling for possibly lost guests. When she heard him, she closed the door to the staircase and blended in the darkness until he left to check the lower floors. Only then, once she was sure the way was free, she conjured Sae and found her way through the floor.

Mulgrad's office was situated on the far end of the floor, next to the East windows. Her eyes were getting used to the dark so she moved faster through the maze of doors and corridors and empty rooms. Once or twice, she stumbled upon a worker asleep in his office or a person patiently waiting for the power to come back, but she made it sure they didn't notice her.

Then, she found it. The office.

Immediately, she used Sae's first analyzer. She watched it spread its blue lines on her fingers, wore her gloves, then felt around the lock for any relevant information on where to place her pick and tension wrench. It only took a few seconds for the lock to give in.

She rushed in the room—and locked it back behind her. She turned around, taking a deep breath. Mulgrad's office was all hers.

She had to be fast.

She immediately went to the desk, checking every single folder for relevant information with Sae's blue screen as her only source of light. She rummaged through the documents in the drawers, in the shelves, in the portfolios neatly placed on the desk, looking for any hint about the strange client Mulgrad had sold Faem's information to.

But there was nothing.

Nothing at all.

Hands on her hips, she scanned once again the room. There was no nen inside—according to Sae, at least—so she would have to come up with other solutions to find what she needed. She had set the power cut to last thirty minutes, which was just enough for her to find the information, leave and go back to the room to fix the problem she had placed herself in the computer system.

She frowned. If she were a tricking bastard keeping sensitive information about her enemy, where would she keep it?

In a secret compartment, probably.

A _very_ secret compartment.

"Sae, my girl, it's your turn now," she murmured as she set the analyzer's options. She felt the power surge through her fingers again, the glowing lines shining through the white gloves. Sae was her most prized possession. Her power. Her strength. Her _creation_. The one thing no one could ever take from her. When she couldn't trust herself, she knew she could always trust Sae.

Because Sae never made a mistake.

Her nen blazed through her as she set her hands on the wall, gliding along the surface to find an irregularity. The walls' structure appeared clear as water under her fingertips, every single inch of concrete responding her call. For a moment, she was completely immersed in the wall's structure, a complete part of it merged with the steel and the cement—

The compartment.

She sucked in a breath. The structure was highly irregular there. She took a step back. She had drifted toward the wall perpendicular to the door wall, the one with a giant television stuck in it.

A television…?

She cocked an eyebrow, carefully walking toward the TV. She dug her fingers on each side of the gigantic TV—her chest was almost touching the screen—and tried to pull.

It moved.

Intrigued, she gently pulled it toward her again. It came out of the wall, but froze a few inches farther. She stepped back, running her fingers along the side of the TV for any mechanical switch, anything that didn't require electricity. Then, she placed her fingers under the TV, and pushed it up.

It moved again. Upward. It only stopped at around half the width of the TV. She deduced the rails used to slide the TV up were concealed behind the TV, hence their invisibility—and their inaptitude to carry the TV farther up, lest it fell without any support. She saw them poke from under the TV, taking a moment to appreciate such a precise work.

A thick folder was sitting inside the secret compartment. Carefully, she took it, squinting to read the words written on the cover. With a flick of her wrist, Sae appeared and lit up the single word on the folder.

 _Scylla._

Surprise morphed to confusion morphed to a dark understanding.

Charybdis and Scylla.

Charybdis had an accomplice.

That accomplice was the client Mulgrad has sold all Faem's information to.

 _All of it._

But Hana didn't have time to marvel at her discovery. Voices coming from the corridor outside alerted her.

"Check Mulgrad's office! Someone might have tried to break into!"

She flinched, instinctively setting her Zetsu. People were coming for her.

Quick, she slid the folder in her overall, where her tight tank top was, keeping it safe against her.

Steps were clacking on the marble outside the office.

She hurriedly slid the TV back into place and pushed it inside the wall, adrenaline kindling her with an intoxicating stress. She was holding her breath.

A key was pushed inside the lock.

Two seconds. That was all that was left for her. Her eye immediately caught the window. She darted toward it, fueling her movements with nen to increase her speed and slid the window open.

The door was being opened.

No time. She had no time.

She jumped out, catching the window's railing just in time to not fall and with one swift movement, she closed the window. Her fingers dug into the metal railing, her joints threatening to crack any moment under the weight of her body.

"There's no one inside," a masculine voice said.

Heels clacked on the floor. "Who knows," a woman said. She was walking toward the window.

Stress sizzled in Hana's veins when she realized what the woman had in mind. She felt it pulse in her temples, deafening all thoughts but one: she was coming to find her. The woman was going to look out the window and find Hana dangling like a limp dress on a clothesline.

 _No way this is happening._

She craned her neck, biting her lips. There was a thin platform above the window. She wasn't the most petite girl—quite the contrary—but that was her best shot at concealing herself. She moved along the window railing, her foot searching for a hold. When she was sure she had a solid hold, she reached for the baseboard lining the surface, next to the window railing… and she let go.

Her heart dropped for a scary moment.

"Are you really going to check the window?" the man asked.

"Of course. Do you have any idea who the boss is fighting?"

Hana froze. She scaled the surface, hiding on top of the platform just as the window was being opened.

"Did you forget to lock the window, Venitio?" The woman asked.

"I… I don't know. A maid came today to clean Mulgrad's office, perhaps she left it open."

"Perhaps, indeed," she replied, the silk in her voice a blade of sarcasm.

Hana swallowed. She held her breath, making herself seem as small and flat as possible. Which was hard because she was neither small nor flat. And concealing her sweet 5'8 was a tiny bit hard.

Just a tiny bit.

A blast of wind hit her in the face. The woman's perfume—something woody and fresh—reached Hana fast enough to worry her.

"Try to find which maid it was. I have a few questions for her," the woman commanded. Her voice was so clear she might as well be speaking directly into her ear. She had to be looking up.

Sweat beaded on Hana's forehead. It rolled in her neck, tickling her. She had a nasty feeling about this woman. Did she see her in the dark? Was the platform too thin to cover her?

Dammit. She shouldn't have eaten all that mac-and-cheese for dinner. What if her stomach was poking out?

"Artemis, there's nobody outside. You're creeping me out."

The woman—Artemis—scoffed. "Do you have any idea who our opponent is? Or are you completely stupid?" she spat, her voice trailing farther from Hana. She was heading back inside. Only then, Hana let herself exhale as silently as she could. Her heart was so wild she was almost sure the woman was hearing her. Good thing she had reacted so fast.

"You don't have to be so scathing," Venitio replied, the hurt obvious in his voice.

"Killua Zoaldyeck," Artemis threw. Hana's blood froze, icicles thrust in her veins. " _This_ is who we're fighting. And let me tell you, fifteen floors above the ground wouldn't have stopped him if he wanted to find Mulgrad's documents."

Venitio was silent. Hana's heart wasn't. "Sorry. I didn't want to upset you. It's just that… ever since Mulgrad died, you've been on edge."

"I'm not upset," she sighed. "I'm exhausted. That Zoaldyeck has been driving me crazy. I can't figure him out. We managed to outrun him once but it was the first time in my life I ever felt like someone would catch me. And _he_ can't teleport."

Catch her.

Hana widened her eyes, blinking fast. Artemis and Venitio were the snipers who had outrun Killua.

And they were right below her.

 _Thank God for Zetsu._

"I know. I felt it too. He's just… insanely strong." He walked in, probably going near the woman. "I've never felt a nen so scary. I thought I'd die. I understand you. But the Zoaldyeck boy isn't in the city. You know it—the spies at the airport watched him go. He should be at Semala right now."

"Should," she repeated in a weary voice. Then, she exhaled, and Hana remembered to breathe at this exact moment. She still couldn't realize what was happening. Her brain couldn't reconcile what she was hearing with what she knew.

They were talking about her Killua.

"Actually, I've… I've been wondering. For quite some time. Why… why is the boss letting the Zoaldyeck boy live? I'm pretty sure he could kill him if he wanted to."

Her heart skipped a beat. It felt too heavy, too much to carry. She focused on what the snipers were saying, immersing herself in their conversation.

"I'm not entirely sure," Artemis replied. "I've wondered about this too. Killua Zoaldyeck is extremely strong, but we have one person stronger than him in our ranks—though not by a lot. And it should be enough."

"Then why?"

"Think about it, Venitio. The Zoaldyecks are a tight-knit family. He may not consider himself a part of the Zoaldyeck family anymore, but they still cherish him—in their own twisted way. He is still their heir." She lit up a cigarette. "If anything happens to his son, you can be sure Silva Zoaldyeck will seek vengeance. The Zoaldyecks are monsters, but their family is sacred, and their heir, whether he wants to be heir or not, is the core of their family."

Silva Zoaldyeck. Killua's father.

Just what exactly had she stumbled upon? Two snipers who could teleport, right below her, talking about killing Killua, her sweet Killua, as though they were talking about the weather?

Could she be lucky enough to eavesdrop on _their enemies_ of all people?

"So the only reason we're not killing the hindrance is because his dad could be mad at us?"

She blew a cloud of smoke from the window. The smell of cigarettes rose toward Hana. "You don't want Silva Zoaldyeck to be mad at you, Venitio."

He mumbled something Hana couldn't hear, then took an irritated voice. "There were rumors that the son had surpassed his father. I guess they were wrong."

Another cloud of cigarette. "Not yet. But he's close. He's only nineteen after all. He's got a lot of time to grow into a monster," she scoffed. "From what I know, I believe he's surpassed his older brother. But he still has some way to go to beat his father."

Venitio leaned against the window sail—Hana saw the back of his head from under the platform. "Say, if the son is so freakishly strong… Just how strong is the father? The _grandfather_?"

Artemis fell silent, the smoke of her cigarette raising in an undulating veil.

"You don't want to know."

* * *

 **Saturday, May 16th**

 **5:15 P.M.**

Killua's visit to Baroque's cell was scheduled for that day at six o'clock. He couldn't say he was impatient to converse with a maniac serial killer but the sooner he'd be rid of him, the better he'd be.

Besides, Baroque had answers.

And answers were precisely what Killua needed at this moment.

He finished buttoning his shirt, then folded the sleeves up to his forearms. He knew people usually thought button-ups looked better that way—but he mostly imagined Hana's face whenever he folded his sleeves, the way her eyes peeked at his arms absent-mindedly. That might have been half the reason he preferred wearing the sleeves up—the other half being that he, too, thought it looked hot, on people of all genders.

… Then he remembered he was going to meet a psychopath who wrote his hints with his victims' blood. He nearly unfolded the sleeves at the thought.

A loud noise resembling a truck made him flinch as he turned around. His phone was ringing—and being particularly noisy at it. He walked to the desk where his phone was still emitting dubious noises to take it, picking his brush on the way.

Then he saw who was calling.

And his heart missed a bit.

He let go of his brush and grabbed his phone like his life depended on it. For a moment, all he knew was relief and elation. Then it was worry. And curiosity. And, again, _relief_.

He picked up the call.

"Alluka?"

"Brother?"

And the air rushed in his lungs. He let out a long sigh, sitting on the chair next to him. "Dammit, I'm so glad to hear you," he breathed. His heart was pounding in his chest.

"I'm so happy too! I missed you so much," she said with her usual joyful tone. Alluka's joy was the sweetest medicine Killua knew.

"So you're back in town with Omma."

"Yeah, we had some supplies to buy so I tagged along. I really wanted to talk to you." She sighed and took her pouting voice. "I've been bugging them for _weeks_ to let me speak to you. I went through so much trouble! I even nearly faced the highest torture for you."

"I can't believe it! They made you go without dessert?"

"They threatened to!"

He grinned, thinking fondly of his sister's antics. "If Omma went that far then that must be because you were a pain, Alluka."

She faked outrage. "Brother! I can't believe it! How could you say that to me?"

He chuckled. "Dammit. I miss you so much. You and your silly antics."

"I miss you too, Brother." She paused for a moment—and he knew why she did. His heart gave a sad tug in anticipation. "When do you think you could visit?"

His face fell. "I'm on a mission right now, I can't. But I'll try to take a break to see you. I don't know when though."

"I can't wait!" she exclaimed, hiding the disappointment from her voice. But he could feel it. He always could. She talked to someone behind her. "—just a little bit. Brother? You're still there?"

"Yeah, I am. I'll have to go in a bit but I'm still here."

"I'll have to go soon too. But before that, tell me how you're doing."

"I'm doing great, don't worry about me."

"No, that's not what I mean. Are you… are you happy, Brother?"

The innocent question tugged at his heart. "I am. Really. I love my job, it keeps me busy, and I know you're safe and far from any danger. That's all I ask for." He hesitated, the warmth of Hana's eyes flashing in his eyes. "I've made a new friend, too. We take care of each other. Don't worry about me, I'm doing good."

"You made a new friend? What's their name?"

"Hana. Her name is Hana."

"Hmmm. You sound like you like her a lot."

"I do," he admitted, surprised by how easy the confession came when he was talking to his sister. "We're becoming best buddies."

" _Hmmm_ …"

He narrowed his eyes. Alluka only did that when she had something on her mind. Something embarrassing, usually. "What is it?"

"Nothing. I'm just reassured that I can entrust you to Hana then. It's good to know someone trustworthy is taking care of your silly brother when you can't."

"Hey, I'm not silly. I'm perfectly mature," he protested. "Watch your language, lady."

"Of course, Mr.I-stick-my-head-in-a-chocolate-fountain. The epitome of maturity, a model to follow."

"How is that immature!" He laughed. "Alluka, how is Nanika doing?" he asked then in a quieter voice.

"They're doing great," she replied, her voice calmer. Omma had told Alluka she should never mention Nanika when they were in public, so she was more discreet about it. "Sometimes they talk to me and they let me call them when I need them. Baa's training is working well—now I can communicate with them, and they're willing to help me. But they haven't come out in a while; I think they're peaceful."

He closed his eyes, relieved. "I'm glad." The same voice as earlier warned Alluka that it was time to go. Killua recognized Omma's loving voice.

"I have to go, Brother," Alluka announced, her voice dejected.

"Okay. Take care. I'll send you a letter soon, okay?"

"Okay. I've knitted a sweater for you. Omma said she would send the package soon. I can't wait for it to reach you!"

"I can't wait either. I'll wear it every day so everyone can be jealous of my sick sweater."

"You better," she laughed. "I worked hard on it. I had to look for a guy who could be my model and it's hard because you're so tall. But Omran helped me. He was very patient."

He narrowed his eyes. "Who's Omran? Your boyfriend?"

Her giggle didn't help. "Not yet."

His mouth dropped open. "Wait, Alluka? What's up with this Omran? Is he a nice guy?"

"I'll tell you more about it next time—and in exchange you tell me more about Hana. But yes, he's nice. Don't worry, I'm in good hands."

He blinked, then sighed. "God, you're growing up so fast."

"Brother, you sound like an old man," she teased.

"Whatever. Tell Omran I'll kick his ass if he's not good to you. And be safe, Alluka. Listen to Omma, okay?"

She chuckled. "I'm sixteen, Brother, not six."

He smiled. "I know. I love you. A lot. Stay safe."

"I love you a lot too, Brother," she said, her grin transpiring through her voice. "Stay safe too. I'll miss you."

She left then.

He stared at his phone for a long while. He was barely getting used to the sudden emptiness he felt whenever they stopped talking.

But what could he do, really? That had been their decision, his and Alluka's. For her sake.

All he could do was miss her and sigh in relief that she was safe.

There wasn't a moment he didn't miss her. However, he had learnt to live with her absence, convincing himself that it was for her sake, that staying with Omma and Baa was the best there could be for her.

They were all like her, after all. They understood better her power than he ever could. They taught her how to use it, how to come to terms with it, how to be in harmony with it, how to grow up and live with it. They had a positive influence in her life—and passed down their generations of knowledge to her, to validate her power. That was something he could never have done himself. As much as he loved Nanika, he was completely oblivious to how their power worked, how Alluka could learn to live _with_ it, not _around_ it as he had taught her. He had trained her to use rudiments of nen and fighting so she could defend herself, but the essence of her power and of Nanika's existence was nothing he could understand.

But Omma Limana and Baa Amir did.

Nonetheless, he still felt the gaping hole of her absence every time they talked. Like his heart was being ripped from his chest whenever they parted.

But he knew it was for her best. She was safer that was, far from the criminals seeking her power, a power that held blessings and curses alike.

He swallowed, crossing his arms.

Alluka was safer with Omma and Baa than she was with him. He had a living target on his face; he couldn't afford to endanger her.

She was safe.

The safest she could be.

Right?

 _Right?_

* * *

Alluka's voice was still in his head when he reached the Trick Tower. As soon as it was looming in front of him, still as tall and imposing as ever, he disconnected himself from his worries, wearing his cold professional mask for the sake of the visit.

He was, after all, visiting a mad serial killer.

The way to the Tower was clear save for the half-eaten remains of a man-eating bird. A flock of scavengers swarmed above the corpse, shrieking and shoving each other to get a piece of meat. When Killua got closer, he realized the corpse was that of a similar bird.

He grimaced at the sight.

With a single surge of aura from him, the birds flew away, not thinking twice about their lost dinner. Only the stench of the cadaver remained, a stinking smoke sticking to him and twisting his stomach.

He picked up the pace.

At last, he reached the gate. It opened before he had to figure how to call Lippo—Lippo was always watching; of course he'd know when Killua arrive.

Lippo himself received Killua, greeting him with his trademark enigmatic smile—that smile threaded in mischief and dark genius. "Welcome, Killua."

"Lippo, long time no see," he greeted back, following Lippo inside the Tower. No handshake or small talk was necessary—Lippo was not interested in how Killua was doing. He was only interested in what he was up to and Killua could feel his carefully hidden impatience. One thing Killua had learnt for having cooperated with Lippo a few times—including in the Wonderland case, precisely—was that Lippo was more interested in the entertainment he derived from his cases than the cases themselves. That was the very little Killua had ever understood about this man—that, and his genius. The kind of genius you should be glad to have on your side and not the other way.

For instance, Lippo had designed the Trick Tower himself. Every single trap, every single cell, every single twisted game. All Lippo's idea.

All for Lippo's entertainment.

"I have informed Baroque of your visit. He was quite thrilled—I think he remembers you."

"I don't think he has memory issues," Killua grimly said, keeping his eyes on Lippo's Mohawk. It used to be black but it had been dyed in bright purple.

Lippo snickered. "Of course." He glanced at Killua, his slanting eyes narrowing—here, he was about to ask a question. "What did you say you needed Baroque for?"

"I need him to tell me about one of his victims."

"Peculiar. Why is that?"

The corridor was endless. Killua wanted it to end. He wanted to be out of this conversation. "That victim happens to be partially guilty in the case I'm working on."

"Interesting."

Another thing Killua had noted about Lippo: he was a firm believer of one-word replies. And usually, it was more than enough to gauge his interest. The sheer eagerness in his aura spoke more than the small replies.

"I will be watching your visit to keep an eye on Baroque," Lippo announced. "Through cameras, of course. I don't want to intervene on your field of work. He will be in a secured cell—although I would still advise you to stay on your guard. There may be a side to his nen ability that we have not figured yet. We are still working on Zetsu-forcing cells but the concept is hard to bring to life, so there is technically nothing to protect you in case he tries something we do not know."

"I don't need protection. But you think he could have another ability, besides creating memories?"

"It's a possibility, although a small one. Some of my inmates have been assigned to constantly monitor him and nothing has been reported to me."

Killua's eyes knitted together. "I see. I'll be careful."

"Wise decision." He stopped walking, gesturing toward a door. "This is where our ways part. You will wait here until I open the door from my office. Baroque will be waiting for you."

"Alright."

"Good luck," Lippo added as he left, both hands clasped behind his back.

Killua watched him leave, stifling a sigh of relief. Discussing crime with Lippo was interesting because he always had something new to say and Killua admired knowledgeable people. But his interest in him was sometimes suffocating. Nothing seemed to escape his scrutiny. He was extremely observing, just as Killua was. Except, unlike Killua, he didn't bother being discreet about it.

Hence the discomfort.

… The truth was, Killua was impatient to get out of this Tower.

The door in front of him suddenly opened, sliding up in the wall with a pump-like noise. Just like in the exam. He took it as an invitation to go in and let the dark corridor swallow him. A dim light shone at the end of the corridor.

As Killua made his way to the cell, Lippo's voice rose in the silence, echoing in the vast room through the speakers.

"Stelem Baroque, your visitor has arrived. Your visit will be monitored. Your visitor can leave whenever he wants, but you cannot end the visit against his will. Do not attempt anything against your visitor or else your sentence will increase. Cooperation might result in a shortened sentence. Good luck."

Killua found himself bitterly scoffing at that last warning.

Baroque had been condemned to a sentence of 1,237 years in prison, including 739 years of mandatory jail term. A few more years meant nothing to him.

A few less, however…

The corridor finally ended. Lippo was still giving instructions to Baroque when Killua reached the visit room. After a quick scan of the room—decently-sized, dark, empty except for the bars separating Baroque's cell from Killua—he realized the gate behind him was the only way out—not counting the mechanical trapdoor on Baroque's side of the room that Lippo had surely used to bring him here.

Finally, Killua met Baroque's gaze.

And just like the first time he had caught him, he was struck with the plainness of his features. Nothing extravagant about him, nothing wild or mad or remotely exceptional.

Stelem Baroque was a perfect Mr. Average. Nothing special about him, if not for his terrifying penchant for homicide.

(But well, Killua supposed that was 'special' enough.)

"How sweet of you to visit me. I've missed you," Baroque broke the silence, perfecting his creepy greeting with an equally creepy grin.

"That goes one way only. I didn't come to chat. I have questions to ask you."

"Cold," Baroque said under his breath, pretending to sulk.

"I'm not gonna beat around the bush," Killua said while walking closer to the bars—close enough to show Baroque a picture without being in his range. "Do you remember this man?" he asked, showing a photo of Owen Swatscher, one of the three mercenaries who had killed Elias's parents—and who used to work under Faem's orders. The last man who had found the comb before it was taken away.

Baroque barely glanced at the photo. "Yes."

"Before killing him, you saw through his memories. I want to know about those memories. Do you remember them?"

"I always remember the memories I taste. But I can't make sense of them. In his case, there was a lot of nasty." He grinned, showing off perfectly white teeth. "He didn't taste as good as the others. My favorite memories are the innocent ones—those that are pure and filled with sweet feelings. But his memories… They were a lot like mine."

"Fucked up?"

Baroque laughed, clutching his sides—and Killua watched him with dubious eyes, training his patience. "You could say that, but I prefer the word 'mad'."

"In the piece of hint you left, the one that held your memories of killing Swatscher, you were holding a comb. What happened to it after you got it?"

"The Police took it from me. I don't know what else happened then."

What happened was that it was stolen afterward. "Other question: there are rumors that you've made vials of all your victims' memories, a collection that you've hidden somewhere. Is Swatscher one of those victims?"

Baroque tilted his head. "You're well-informed. How did you know?"

"I have my sources."

"But I wouldn't want the police to find my prized collection, you know."

Killua cracked a bitter smile. "Nobody wants your collection. The memories are filled with poison. I'm the only one who can make sense of them. Remember how I caught you?"

Another laugh. "I do. It was pretty impressive."

"Answer my question."

"So rude," he sang. "The man you showed me does have a vial, but it's not in my collection anymore."

"Where is it, then?"

Baroque shrugged. "Nowhere I know. But I suppose you could find it in the Memory Market if you know where to look."

Killua frowned. "The Memory Market?"

"Oh? Do you need to be enlightened?" he chuckled. "It's a lovely place—" Read, black market, "—where people can buy conjured pieces of memories. Like my vials. I used to sell some memories there before I got interested in people."

('Interested in people', Killua noted, was a strong euphemism for homicide.)

"Are there more people like you who can conjure people's memories?"

Again, the rows of white teeth. "Have you ever heard about memory trading, sweet boy?" As Killua frowned, he continued. "Do some research, I think it will interest you."

"Whatever. When's the Memory Market held?"

"The date changes every year. If you're lucky, it hasn't happened yet. If not… Good luck!"

He scoffed, watching Baroque blast a playful smile. "Okay. Thanks for your cooperation. Enjoy your lighter sentence."

Baroque stood up, walking closer to the bars of his cell. "What will you give me in exchange?" Baroque said, wide eyes scrutinizing him.

"This was never an exchange. I have nothing for you."

Baroque feigned to pout. "How mean. I contributed, I expect at least a little _something_ in return…"

Killua leveled Baroque's gaze. "I make it a rule to break expectations," he casually threw as he turned around to leave.

"Let me look in your memories," Baroque suddenly pleaded. "It's so _satisfying_ to live through so many lives. I want to see yours. I want to see the memories of the only person who ever caught me."

He didn't reply anything.

"You can't leave like that," Baroque insisted, grabbing the bars.

"Watch me."

When he realized Killua wasn't giving in, he grew frantic. Urgency seethed in his behavior as he became increasingly desperate, a drug addict in withdrawal facing the forbidden substance. "Please, just a _peek_. I haven't peeked in anyone's memories for so long. I need it, _please_."

Killua didn't bother with a reply, instead picking up the pace to be away from this disaster of a person as soon as he could. A keen foreboding urged him forward as Baroque's restlessness worsened, as through somehow, he could reach him through the cell bars.

The truth was, he could.

And he did.

A puppet-like creature popped right before Killua's eyes, who reflexively jumped back to be out of its range. "What—"

The creature snickered, its head spinning around its neck, its eyes fixated on Killua. Glowing yellow eyes, a striking contrast against its striped purple fur. One of its arms had been stitched back to its body with a needle and a thread, and a big patch of pink textile fixed a hole on its back.

Killua realized a bit too late that it was a puppet replica of the Cheshire cat.

Late enough that he felt a sharp prickle on his skin as soon as the creature disappeared, no matter his electric shield.

An instantaneous wound.

He swiveled, shooting daggers at Baroque, whose eyes, wide as saucers, gauged him from his cell. A Cheshire grin broke on his face. Then, the creature popped in a purple cloud, right next to Baroque.

Without turning his gaze, Killua reached for the prickling sensation—only to realize he was bleeding. There was a wound shaped like a scratch from a cat's claws on his arm. He gritted his teeth.

The Cheshire cat's claws were stained in red.

"Don't you fucking dare," he hissed, glaring daggers at Baroque as his wild eyes settled on his nen beast's claws.

"Watch me," Baroque mockingly purred, gliding his finger along the claws until they were red.

Red with Killua's blood.

And he brought his finger to his lips.

Killua saw the exact moment Baroque was seeing a glimpse of his memories. Just like a drug addict getting his fix, his _release_ , his tension faded away. Insanity coated every word he repeated over and over, rocking back and forth in his trance.

A loud buzz blared from the ceiling, followed by Lippo's ever even voice. "Stelem Baroque, you have ten seconds to stop what you are doing. You are exposing yourself to a considerable increase of your sentence."

 _As if he cares_ , Killua thought with bitterness.

"So sweet," Baroque chanted, ignoring Lippo's threat, ignoring Killua's presence.

He clenched his fists, turning his heels on the sick display of Baroque's ecstasy. A nauseous feeling lodged in his stomach.

"So she smells like grapefruit," Baroque hummed. Killua froze in his tracks. "This girl with spring eyes. She smells like _grapefruit_."

A murderous wave burst from Killua, filling the entire room with its suffocating power. The lights flickered, the lightbulbs exploded, the cameras whirred noisily and smoked as their system went overdrive. The entire atmosphere around them sizzled with bloodthirst; it was a living thing, a dark monster spawned from the bottomless abysses of Killua's eyes, claws and fangs and shadows ready to spring and swallow the life out of Baroque.

Slowly, Killua turned around, settling the dark abysses right into Baroque's now afraid eyes. Uncontrollable snakes of electricity lined his arms.

Baroque fell silent then. No more discourse about Killua's memories, no more cockiness. For the first time, he remained completely quiet, submitting himself to the overwhelming power before him, the monster hidden in Killua's shadow that swallowed the light out of this room.

"Be careful," Killua warned, his voice a polished blade coated with poison. "There are worse things than death."

Baroque didn't say anything more.

Killua promptly left after that. He met Lippo before returning to his hotel, absent-mindedly acquiescing when he talked about increasing Baroque's sentence.

But it didn't mean a thing to him.

All he could think about were the words Baroque had spoken, the memories he had stolen and tasted.

" _She smells like grapefruit."_

* * *

 **A/N** : What a rollercoaster, right? And finally Alluka's issue comes into focus :D

Anyway, what do you think memory trading is? Do you have any example *wink wink* of memory traders? More importantly, **did you like the chapter?** What was your favorite moment? Let me know in a review!

And if you're not sure what to say, just say 'Roy is adorable' and I'll give him belly-rubs on your behalf (he loveeeeeees those *A*)

Next chapter is called **Engraved** and it's really sweet. Killua will be returning home (finally) and you'll have a lot of Hanallua dialogues :D Read the excerpt below for a little example lol.

Finally, for those of you who celebrate Christmas, then I wish you a Merry Christmas! And for those who don't, I hope you have the best day ever! I'll see you in two weeks. Spend nice vacations, rest well, eat well, and I hope, for all of you, that 2017 will be soft and full of light.

* * *

 _So Killua did the only thing he could focus on, at the moment._

 _He texted her._

' _I cant sleep'_

' _Why? Is everything okay?'_

' _Red lace panties. Rings a bell? :)'_

' _I've got no idea what you're talking about,' she said, finishing her sentence with a heart._

' _should I enlighten you?'_

' _Show me the light, Killua.'_

 _He rolled his eyes. 'well, there's a demon who put me in that state.' He cracked a smile. 'You know, an absolute moron. A certain obnoxious smug girl who cant eat pizza crusts and loves me too much and has awful taste in coffee'_

 _'She says you should kiss her ass, moron.'_

'… _Im kinda trying not to think about that, thank u very much'_

 _She sent a bunch of laughing emojis._


	23. Engraved

**A/N** : Hi guys! How are you? I hope 2017 has been going well for you so far. I'm starting the year with exams but it could be worse lol.

Anyway, here's the first update of 2017 wooh! And it's a pretty sweet chapter. No cliffhanger, I promise. Besides, next chapter is the long-awaited chap 23, so we're getting there baby!

News wise, I just wanted to say that chap 24 is done! And it's cute. I'm also 60% done with chap 25 and 26, and **b o i** things are getting hot. I think you'll like them.

Life wise, as I said, I've got a bunch of exams and projects lately. It's hard. I don't have much time to write but I'll try to best to not fall behind. I've also started reading _A Torch against the Night_ by Sabaa Tahir, the second book in the _An Ember in the Ashes_ series, and it's _**soooooooooooooooo goooooooood**_ … I'm seriously in love lol.

Anyway, this chapter's fic rec is a one shot! It's called _The night Leorio was no longer infinite_ by **Samaaskylar** , and it's just beautiful, deep, raw, _real_. There aren't much fics about Leorio, which is a pity (says the KilluaOC writer, I knooooow) so I'm happy to find such brilliant works for my man. Read it for feels ;)

As always, thank you to all of you for reading, favoriting, following, and especially reviewing. You guys are amazing. Annnnnd, _**speaking of reviewers**_ , **THANK YOU FOR 200 REVIEWS!** I am so happy, I can barely realize and I can't think of anything to say except thank you! Thank you again and again! **I love every single review I get.** Each and every one of them is special and dear to me. You're the one who made me get there, you make this story live. I know some of you have been following this story since it was first published, some others joined the journey later, but whoever you are, I'm forever thankful for this chance you gave me that pushed me forward. So thank you, forever.

Okay, now for real I stop talking. Replies to guest reviews are below, and then you've got the chapter. Hope you'll like it!

* * *

 **Replies to guest reviews:**

 **Irem** : Hiii! Thank you so much for your reviews omg! And don't worry about it, I completely understand! I hope things are calmer now so you can rest a bit ahh ;A; I'm so glad you liked Killua's scary killer mode omg! And AHH you noticed the way Hana said he was her Killua! I'm so glad you did! XD I like reading speculations too hehe ;) I hope you'll like this chapter (annnd the big chapter in two weeks ;) ) Thank you again! *hugs*

* * *

Chapter 22: **Engraved**

* * *

 **11:48 P.M.**

The meeting with Baroque had left Killua on edge.

He couldn't forget what he had said. The way he had acted.

The things he had seen.

That had put Killua in a fairly foul mood. His worry for Alluka, longing for Hana, stress over his case, concern for his friends, confusion over that 'Memory Market'… and now the disgust and anger at Baroque. The uncertainty of how much Baroque had seen—did he know about Alluka? About his secrets? About his feelings for Hana? About his darkness sleeping in his core?

 _What_ did he know?

His shoulders dropped.

He wanted to go home. He wanted to see his sister. He wanted to beat Faem to a pulp and possibly the Whisper too and then make Baroque swallow his own tongue.

He wanted to see Hana.

He rested his forehead on the wall, brushing the fresh scar on his inner arm, letting the warm water pour on his bare shoulders in a soft waterfall. Washing away the day. For a long moment, he allowed himself to empty his head, turning his mind to the weight of the warm droplets on his shoulders. A rain of marbles obscuring his worries, just the time to rest.

Usually, seeing Hana was enough to relax. They would go to the court together and shoot some hoops while calling each other nerds and morons and laughing at their own originality. Pickles would be there, waiting for Hana to feed her and pet her. Then, they would go to her place or his place when Pickles was done eating and they would have dinner, shower, and, on a good day, sleep in the same bed. When he was lucky, she had also baked cupcakes. When he was _very_ lucky, she would also hug him out of the blue. When he was _extremely_ lucky, the kind of luck that transcended the alignments of planets and made him believe that good things did exist in the world, she would kiss him on the cheek and he would lie down on his little fluffy cloud of happiness for the rest of the night.

But Hana wasn't here. Neither was the court, or Pickles, or the cupcakes.

All he had was himself and the memories of a maniac serial killer.

A long sigh escaped him. He stopped the water, grabbed a towel and dried himself. On his way to his room, he took a pair of black boxers and put them on, applied some cream on his face and proceeded to lie down on his bed and sigh some more.

Obviously, at this point, the bustling thoughts had to come back.

His sister missing him. Hana alone in Megamshill. The cases getting more complicated. Elias being targeted. Faem being a dick for a reason Killua had yet to comprehend. Charybdis stalking them and conveniently helping them—until when? Arashi counting on him. The warehouse where Eugene Priman had been kept for a night—the place he had died at. The questions they had yet to answer—who was Penelope? How did Gayan escape? The Memory Market mentioned by Baroque—was it a hoax? Was it a real thing? The things he had seen in Killua's memory. ' _She smells like grapefruit_.' Nausea he felt at the thought. Hana, unaware of all that, working relentlessly on their case. The documents he had found at Faem's Quarters in Comershill, with the photos of Hana, Maya, Leorio and Mag.

He sat up.

Right.

The first thing he had to do was warn his friends.

Hana already knew. Leorio too—but he didn't want Killua to tell Maya. He would tell her himself.

The only one left was Mag.

Killua caught his phone on the nightstand, quickly dialing Mag's number. The dial resounded in his ear for a few seconds before Mag's rough voice replaced it. "Son, what's up," he grumbled. "Why you calling this late? You should be sleeping. Children should sleep early."

… At least Mag was doing good.

"Hey, old man. Nice to see you're not dead yet."

"You and your dark humor. Must be a young thing." He pushed a stool on the floor. "So, how are you?"

"Tired."

Mag stopped what he was doing for a second. "You just admitted you were tired? You okay?"

"Yeah? I'm human too. Sometimes."

"Sometimes." He paused for a moment. "Because of work?"

"Yeah," Killua admitted in a weary voice. "It's also the reason I'm calling."

Mag continued fumbling with whatever he was doing. The sound of a tool put on a wooden surface made Killua frown—the phone amplified all the noises. "Just when I thought you cared about your old uncle Mag."

"Ugh, _stop_ with that name, that's just…"

"What? You prefer 'dad'?"

Killua's mouth hung open. "Believe it or not, I actually do."

Mag laughed his gravelly laugh—somehow, Killua liked that sound. "Tell me what's wrong, son."

And Killua told him the whole story. The way his case got intertwined with Hana. The enemies at the Quarters 84 holding Elias. The information about him that they had. Killua made sure he never gave sensitive information to Mag lest he endangered him more and compromised the mission, but it felt relieving to share his burden.

Mag was the closest thing to a father Killua had.

"They had a whole folder of information about me. There were photos of my friends inside the folder—including of you."

"Were they good photos at least?"

He rolled his eyes. "Mag."

"Son, I don't care. I've had countless Mafia guys aiming for my head. If you think some rich blondie will scare me you're wrong."

"He's not just a rich blondie. He's got people in his ranks with extremely dangerous abilities. I was sick for a whole day because of them."

"Hmm." His gruff voice sounded distant. "I'll be careful then. They're probably not that bad if they managed to hurt you. I promise I'll lock my door."

Killua sighed. "I'm telling you I'm worried about you, you giant dumbass. At least pay attention." A growling laugh was all he got for a response. "Mag."

"Ah, son, I'm moved. But uncle Mag will be fine. I can take care of my dumb ass by myself." He put a glass recipe on the table. "I'm more concerned about you. You said they made you sick—and apparently, they're spying on you. You gonna be fine?"

More sighs from Killua. "I call you to tell you I'm worried for you and all you do is worry about me?"

"I'll be okay. What 'bout you?"

He gave up. "I'd be better if you took me seriously."

"Hmm. What do you want me to do? Panic?"

"God, _no_. But stay safe. And if you ever feel like someone is watching you, let me know. I'll deal with them."

It was Mag's turn to sigh, though with much more resignation. "It should go the other way around, son. Shouldn't be you protecting me."

"You'd do the same for me."

"Fair enough. I'll let you know." He slid something—a glass, probably—on the table and soon the sound of a pouring drink filled Killua's ear. He wouldn't mind a glass of wine. "When are you coming back?"

"May 20th. I'll drop by at some point."

"Who said I wanted you to see you?" Mag deadpanned.

"What if I told you I got you Scarab-snake venom?"

He put the bottle on the table, quiet. "Hmm. Wondering if this is worth bearing with your annoying ass."

"You'd be dying to bear with my annoying ass right now, you big Teddy bear."

Mag's gruff laugh boomed through the phone once again, but this time, Killua had to remove it from his ear, wincing through his smile. "Alright. Sounds fair." Then, in a gentle voice that always calmed Killua, "you're always welcome here, son."

His smile grew softer. "I know. Thanks, Mag."

Mag let out a satisfied gruff. He bid Killua goodbye then, returning to his work.

When Killua was alone again in the deafening quietness of his hotel room, he couldn't avoid the maddening moment with Baroque to bother him again.

" _She smells like grapefruit."_

He cringed, disgusted by those same words repeating over and over in his mind.

Baroque had seen through his memories. He had seen her spring eyes and her peach lips and her beauty spots scattered on her body like a constellation of freckles. He had heard her fruity laugh and her deep voice and the silvery ring through it.

He had smelt her sweet grapefruit scent.

How could he let him do that? How had he not felt Baroque's nen beast approach? Was his ability designed to be felt on the exact moment it stung, when it was too late?

Killua carefully sat on the bed, staring at his phone between his hands, trying to put a finger on the deep unease sprawling within himself. Disappointment? Anger? Revulsion? A mix of them? He wasn't sure. All he heard was the alarm blaring in his heavy head and the hissing voice of the killer saying her name like he owned her. Like he wanted to crack her pretty head open and steal her sweet memories.

He pursed his lips. His chest was wrung with tension, his nerves on fire.

He felt robbed of his memories. Of his feelings for her. The gentleness of this friendship, of their budding daringness. His treasured secrets locked inside his chest. They were his—no, they were _theirs_ —, and now someone had stolen them. Someone had seen what was supposed to be their innocent bubble. He felt stained when he thought of Baroque toying with his mind, of the bloodlust pouring from him as he tasted the fond memories.

No.

He felt murderous.

His phone started ringing at this exact moment, and Hana's name—along with the rainbow string of heart emojis _she_ had added to her name in his phone—shook him out of his discomfort. He took her call, his shoulder relaxing when her voice reached him.

"Oh thank God!"

And just like that, he exhaled and his mind was quiet again. "If you wanted to talk to God, you got the wrong number, Hana."

"Shut up, I'm so relieved!" She coughed, cleared her throat. "Um, hi."

A smile found its way to his lips. A constant side-effect of her presence. "Hi."

"How are you?"

"Hmm." He lay down, finally letting himself rest. "I'm okay. I ate. My door is locked. I took a shower. I even brushed my teeth and hydrated by face, see. I'm a responsible adult."

She swore under her breath. "Keep making fun of me, go ahead," she shot back, though he heard the relief in her voice. She had been dying to know if he was still healthy and eating and fine. Just like a mom. Or, well, what he supposed moms were like. His used to feel prouder when he was spitting blood and coiling on himself with pain.

"How was your day?" he asked, impatient to hear about what she had done. He just wanted to hear her voice. Even if all she had done was her laundry, he wanted to hear it.

"It was okay. Tiring, but, heh, what isn't lately. I've got some sweet news for you but I'd rather not talk about them on the phone. I think you'll like it though."

"Don't torture me like that," he said, sitting up. "I'm curious. What did you find?"

"Not telling."

" _Pleaseeeee_ ," he begged, taking his sweetest pleading voice. The voice that made her melt when she was going all strict mom on him.

(One good thing he had learned: Hana couldn't resist him. Especially not when he used his very rare and very special unique puppy eyes and pleading voice on her.)

She mumbled something unintelligible that including calling him an 'adorable asshole'—what a sweet title—then huffed. "There's a Scylla to our Charybdis."

He frowned. "What do you mean? Literally?"

"Yeah. The client Mulgrad sold Faem's info to is literally called 'Scylla'. I don't think that's a coincidence."

He whistled. "Good job. This is amazing."

"I don't know if it's amazing but it's certainly intriguing. Like, I think they're possibly working together, or they're the same person. Which means Charybdis could be an ally in the Mafia itself."

"Or an enemy just waiting for the right moment to crush us," he mused.

"… Look, I'm trying hard to be optimistic, okay?" She opened a door—her room, it seemed, since he recognized the way she had to push it to close it completely. "I may also have… accidentally eavesdropped on the snipers who escaped from you."

Killua blinked, slightly gaping. "What? How?"

"When I infiltrated Mulgrad's office. They checked the office after I cut the power. I recognized them when they mentioned escaping you. That doesn't happen often."

"What did you notice from them?"

There was a short moment before she answered, as though she tried to gather the elements. He knew she was a skilled spy. She had surely managed to deduce all sorts of information from their conversation. "There was a woman and a man, named Artemis and Venitio. Surely friends or siblings, from the way they talked. Both young—I'd say mid-twenties. Their ability is teleportation. They… didn't like you. Seems like you scared the shit out of them."

Killua scoffed. "Good. Did they say anything interesting?"

She frowned. "They were wondering why Faem hadn't killed you yet. Apparently, he has people in his ranks who could."

"The guy with the toxic smokes," he finished. "What conclusion did they come to?"

"That Faem was afraid of your dad's vengeance. That if they killed you, your dad would attack them. Or like, your family would pull some sort of vendetta to make them pay."

He let out a wry, bitter chuckle. "The worst part is that they're right," he mumbled. Sure enough, no matter his distance, he knew his family wouldn't forgive anyone who took their heir. They still had this foolish hope that he would come back and take the family business. They just couldn't take no for an answer.

"On your side, what's up? You saw Wondie?" she changed the topic, surely sensing his tension. No matter how controlled it was.

"Yep. T'was today."

"So? How did it go? Did he try to do anything to you?"

He opened his mouth. Should he tell her about the nen beast and the scratch? Or, worse, about 'Wondie' tasting his blood to watch his memories?

Nah, right?

That wasn't important, right?

… Right?

"Well," he started, fumbling with words. He was aware she would just freak out, especially from this distance, so he wasn't sure about telling her. But he hated the thought of lying to her—of hiding something important from her.

He didn't have to think long about that because she caught the slight hesitation in his voice. And it was enough. She hadn't even said a word—he only heard her shift on the other side—then her worry was radiating through the phone. He could almost touch it and shake hands with it. 'Hi, I'm Hana's sudden extreme stress about your wellbeing. Just so you know, she's reviewed all thousand different ways you could have gotten hurt at this exact moment and she's listing all the airplane companies that could take an emergency flight to your city. Nice to meet you!'

"What happened, Killua? Tell me what happened. I'm going to kick his ass if he hurt you, no kidding."

He sighed. He had sighed a lot that night. "Only a scratch—for real."

"You're hurt?! Goddammit, that Wondie fuckboy is a _dead man_ tonight."

He removed the phone from his ear for a second, wincing—then held back a laugh. "Um. Only a scratch. I promise. He just wanted to… to…"

"To what?!"

"… taste my blood?"

She stayed quiet. That might have been the weirdest thing he had ever said. "Um, _what_?"

"He scratched me—he has a nen beast that looks like the Cheshire cat—because he wanted to see my memories."

More silence. "Okay, no big deal. Some serial killer goes Dracula on you, all good. And… so you're hurt."

"Not really, I'm—"

"You're hurt, Killua."

"… A scratch, but yeah." He wasn't sure he liked her silence. "Hana?"

"Did you treat the wound? It's not infected? He didn't use it as some kind of sick vector to curse you or whatever?"

He groaned. "Hana, it's a _scratch_. Not a ripped arm. Not the plague. I'm alive. Look, I'm being an asshole, that means I'm fine. _Hello_ , I'm trying to talk to the reasonable part of your brain."

She exhaled soundly. "You're sure he didn't…"

"I'm sure. Really, stop worrying. I'm okay. You're only harming yourself when you stress over it—I promise you, I'd tell you if it was bad. You trust me to tell you, right?"

She visibly relaxed. "I do."

"Good." He lay down. "I was just surprised by how fast he was. The Cheshire cat scratched me before I could feel it. I've been through a similar experience before—remember?"

"The darts," she recalled. "The ones that you only felt at the exact moment they reached you?"

"Exactly. It was the same kind of nen ability. What worries me is that I didn't pick up on that immediately. I shouldn't have been taken aback by something like that…"

"Just because he never put a fight doesn't mean he didn't have the abilities to," she explained. "Perhaps you're stronger overall but if the guy focused his ability on stealing memories through blood, he'd better find a way to do that without being noticed."

He frowned. "Yeah. But he's in a cell. If he managed to touch me then he could harm anyone with that nen beast. Lippo said he was currently working on implementing Zetsu-enforcing cells but the idea needs some thought."

"Yeah but… a Zetsu-enforcing cell would also erase the prisoners' presence. It's like giving them a free pass for escape attempts."

"My thoughts exactly. I don't know how he'll manage to tame Baroque."

She got up, her chair rasping against the floor. "He'll figure this out. The most important is your safety."

"Not compromised in any way, stay assured." He closed his eyes. "I do have some nice info though. I'll tell you when I come back, it's too complicated to be mentioned through the phone. I'd need some time to explain everything to you and Elias and start working on it."

"Fine with me. And thanks for telling me. I know you were probably hesitating but I'm glad you told me."

"Yeah? You're not freaking out?"

"No. I mean, I freaked out before, but now that I know you're okay, it's all cool."

He still heard the remnant of worry in her voice. The stress monster was still hiding in the grave undertone in her voice. "It takes a lot more to bring me down. You've got more chances to kill me with a nice pair of boobs than a guy like Wondie."

She laughed and unleashed the swarm of hyper butterflies in his tummy. Wild ones, those little bugs. "Good. Now I know how I'll finish you off."

"Anytime. That's how I'd like to die."

"Crushed by my gorgeous boobs."

"Oh boy," he sighed. "Don't turn me on."

"Okay. I'm only wearing panties."

He groaned. "Hana."

" _Lace_ panties."

He fell silent, his mouth hanging open. "What color?"

"Burgundy. Like your sweater."

He held his breath. He pictured her on her bed wearing nothing but dark red lace, her soft curves bared on the sheets.

… Bad idea. _Very_ bad idea. He was starting to feel hot in his pants.

"You okay, Killua?" she sweetly asked and he could practically feel the smirk in her voice—her sultry, sensual voice. Boy, how he'd like that voice in his ear. Murmuring his name. Soft pleas and soft moans and… and he should stop thinking about it. Really.

"You'll be the death of me," he breathed. "Go to bed before this gets naughty."

"You don't like naughty? You prefer obedient? I can do both. I can be… _versatile_ in bed."

He cursed under his breath. "Okay, enough kinky talk for tonight. Good night, Hana."

She chuckled. "Good night, Killua. Take care of… _yourself_. While thinking of me."

"I'll be fine, thanks."

"You sure about that?" she sweetly asked. The raspy sound in her voice was pure pleasure to him. "It's okay. Don't hold back. Just imagine I'm with you."

His breath caught. "Is that a challenge?"

"Hmm. Who knows. Have sweet dreams."

"Demon."

He hung up then, running a hand over his face. Here, she had done it again. Teasing him with those invitations and those innuendos until he was a restless turned-on mess of uncatholic thoughts and sexual frustration.

Damn.

What he would give to see those lace panties. On that ass. _Her_ ass. She had a very nice ass. The kind that drove him wild with fantasies of her naked in his bed.

He rolled over to the side, sighing. Killua the sigher, too tired to give any other reaction.

…

More like Killua the frustrated. If he hadn't been so intent on proving her wrong, his hand would be in his pants at this moment.

But he wanted to prove her wrong. To resist her and her damned lace panties. To win that self-imposed challenge.

So as tempted as he was to get his release, he didn't do anything. Focusing instead on candies and work and his upcoming tasks.

… That was going to be a long night.

* * *

 **Sunday, May 17th**

 **1:53 A.M.**

So his no-touching session had ended exactly as he had predicted.

With a very sweet insomnia.

He had been lying awake for hours, debating with himself over whether he should slip his hand in his pants or not.

So far, the 'not' part was winning.

He yawned, rolling to his back, watching the ceiling. He was getting tired, but for some—lacy—reason his brain was going overdrive and he couldn't sleep. Eventually, the panties weren't the only thing in his mind—there was also her smile, her panties, and his work, and her panties, and his questions, and her damned lace panties, and his pants whispering to him 'hey man, you can do this' and his brain replying 'no way, you're not gonna prove her smug ass right'.

So Killua did the only thing he could focus on, at the moment.

He texted her.

'I cant sleep'

'Why? Is everything okay?'

'Red lace panties. Rings a bell? :)'

'I've got no idea what you're talking about,' she said, finishing her sentence with a heart.

'should I enlighten you?'

'Show me the light, Killua.'

He rolled his eyes. 'well, there's a demon who put me in that state.' He cracked a smile. 'You know, an absolute moron. A certain obnoxious smug girl who cant eat pizza crusts and loves me too much and has awful taste in coffee'

'She says you should kiss her ass, moron.'

'… Im kinda trying not to think about that, thank u very much'

She sent a bunch of laughing emojis. 'What's up? Everything okay?'

He watched her text for a moment. 'You see that moron I talked about?'

'Yeah?'

'I kinda miss her,' he sent, watching the chat bubble load in the screen.

She quickly replied—fast enough that she couldn't have thought about her answer. 'She says she misses you too.'

'Yeah? Tell her hi for me'

'She says hi and she says you're a nerd.'

He chuckled. Already, the frustration morphed to delight. Who could have thought she could be the antidote to her own poison? 'Thanks.' He hesitated. Longing hit him in the guts as he pictured her sloppy smile in bed. That same sloppy smile she wore whenever she was sleepy. 'Tell her I miss her smile. And her laugh. And her ridiculous snort.'

She remained silent. 'Wow, you're using proper grammar… She must be a big deal,' she joked. 'She says she misses your smile too. It's not the same without you. She needs someone to eat her pizza crusts and taste her culinary experiments.'

'Well, tell her I miss eating pizzas with her. I miss the way she widens her eyes when the villain does something bad in a Disney even though she's watched them twenty times already and knows the scripts by heart. And the way she tilts her head when she's confused or curious. And the way she is so honest about her affection.'

'She says she's about to cry…'

'Of course she is. The girl cried in front of a Pokémon episode.'

'Okay she's laughing now.' She added a laughing emoji, then typed a long text. 'She says she misses the way you make her laugh at nothing. She sounds pretty damn cheesy but she says make her brave. She misses the conversations she has with you and the way you laugh when she tells you about her silly childhood stories. She says she wants to see you look up like when you're deep in thought. She wants to drink your sickeningly sweet hot chocolate and watch you cook and. And. She kinda wants to see your smile. All the time.'

'Damn. She sounds head over heels for me.'

'She might be.' She stopped, then typed something else. 'She thinks of your ass when she's sad.'

'It's a very uplifting ass. I kinda miss the way she stares at it and thinks I don't see.'

'Holy shit. You see me?' she added a laughing emoji next to her text.

'Of course I do, you dumbass. You're so not discreet.'

'My bad. Your ass is so hot.'

'I know.' Then, he started over. 'Hana?'

'Yeah?'

'I miss you. I wish you were here with me..'

'I miss you too. It sucks without you. Come back now'

'Three days'

'Three too many.'

He smiled. 'I want to see you.'

'Hold on. I'll send you my triple chin to lift your mood.'

He smiled as a picture loaded. He laughed. 'How do you manage to make a triple chin?'

'Skills.'

He sent her a picture too. 'I have sexy nostrils.'

'Even your nostrils are pretty, asshole.'

He sat up, drew the curtains and snapped a picture of the starry sky. 'Look. It's pretty,' he sent with the photo.

The picture took some time to load, but when it did, she sent a heart emoji. 'You know what else is pretty?'

'My ass?'

'Pfft.' She sent a picture. When it showed up, his heart missed a beat. It was a selfie, with her tired eyes and sloppy, goofy grin. God, he missed her. 'See what you're missing out?' she said.

He stared at her tired selfie for far too long to count. Then he called her.

She picked up right away. "Why are you calling me?" she said in her sleepy voice. "I sound like a dead frog."

"Because you're beautiful. I had to tell you." He had blurted this out before he could think twice of it. But the truth was, he didn't want to think twice. He had to tell her.

" _Whaaat_? Wait what?"

"You're beautiful," he repeated. "Need me to say it another time? You're beautiful, Hana."

"I'm…" She sighed in delight. "Thank you… That was so unexpected. Of all the selfies my vain ass sends you, this is the one you think is beautiful?"

He grinned. "I like unexpected."

She chuckled. "Well, I'm moved. Thanks. It feels nice to hear it from you..."

"Why from me?"

"Because… I don't know. It just does. I'm kinda flustered right now."

"Flustered?"

"Yes… I mean, it makes me happy and it was so spontaneous," she shyly said.

"That was the aim," he mused.

"You know what?" she asked, moving in her bed. The hushed sound of her sheets ruffling together reminded him of how it felt to sleep next to her after a long conversation. For a moment, he felt like it was real. He was with her and she was about to tell him all the crazy things she had done when she was a toddler, all the times she had driven her parents crazy.

"What?"

"You're beautiful too, Killua."

"Of course I am."

"No, you don't get it. You're so beautiful sometimes it hurts. There isn't a thing about you I don't like. It's like God kept all the best parts when he decided to make you, or like he was following the manual of _How to Make the Most Gorgeous Boy Ever_."

He laughed, rolling to his back, his chest shaking with mirth. "How to give compliments, the Hana way."

"I mean it!"

"I know. That's why it feels amazing." He closed his eyes. He was burning with the need to hold her. "I'm impatient to be home."

"So am I. Come home already." She shifted in the bed and yawned. "I'm gonna fall asleep. I should probably stop talking. I get too sentimental when I'm sleepy."

"Okay. Go to sleep."

"I terribly miss you, Killua."

His heart gave a little hiccup. "I'll be back soon. With presents."

"Souvenirs?"

"Yeah. Anything you want from here? Locals told me they made the best wool, by the way."

"Hm. I want you to get me the _ugliest_ sweater you can find."

"Gotcha. I'll come back. With my sexy ass and the _ugliest_ sweater for you."

"I'll take both," she said, her voice a soft whisper. She was almost sleeping.

"Good night, Hana," he murmured, taking in her last words before he went to bed.

"Good night. Come back soon."

"I will."

* * *

 **Killua** , _9:45 A.M_.: Three days till I come back… I'm hitting the local market today lol. Also found out how to make autocorrect add apostrophes so you stop complaining about my grammar like the ducking nerd you are.

I mean ducking*

Ducking*

… You get what I mean.

* * *

 **Killua** , _11:07 A.M._ : You will look terrible in the sweater I got you. Not sending any photo bc I don't want to ruin the surprise for you.

You'll find out in ~two days~ :D :D

* * *

 **Killua** , _7:02 A.M._ : One day.

So I got a matching sweater to yours. So we can be ugly together.

I'm such a great friend, damn.

* * *

 **Wednesday, May 20th**

 **Killua** , _11:58 A.M.:_ Hi. I'm home.

* * *

 **12:02 P.M.**

He couldn't wait.

During the whole morning, the whole flight, the whole six hours since he had left his hotel and rented a taxi to the airport and boarded his blimp and gone through an entire flight shivering with impatience, he had thought about her.

No kidding. It was almost scary. He had never been so impatient to see her. After two weeks without seeing her, he hadn't expected the last day to be that unbearable. The minutes seemed to stretch on and on and the blimp had taken _forever_ to land.

Yes. Forever.

And mind you, forever was a _lot_.

"Thank you for choosing our company, enjoy your stay at Megamshill," the air hostess said as he bid her goodbye. He followed the other passengers through the corridor connected to the airport, dodging the slow walkers in his haste.

She was waiting for him.

Right behind these walls.

She was here, somewhere.

The corridor opened to the arrival lounge with the conveyor belts rotating on and on with the passengers' luggage. He found a spot that wasn't too crowded and waited for his luggage to reach him. One black suitcase, with a pink ribbon fastened around its handle—courtesy of Hana, just to make it 'recognizable'.

The suitcase was taking its sweet time to come. Killua spotted the pink ribbon just as he was considering climbing atop the conveyor belt and fetching it inside the truck himself. He felt like a kid on Christmas Eve, unable to tame his eagerness, very nearly bouncing on his feet as he finally grabbed the suitcase and followed the flow of passengers going out of the lounge, with his suitcase and his hand luggage.

She was closer now. He knew it. He was breathing the same air as her. She was somewhere in the crowd. Waiting for him. Was she longing for him as much as he was longing for her? Did it matter?

Perhaps. Perhaps it did. But Killua didn't have time to torture himself with those thoughts.

Because then, he came out of the arrivals lounge. His long wait ended. He spotted her in the crowd.

And time stopped.

The hubbub stilled as his world narrowed down to her, standing with people waiting for their relatives, hopeful eyes scanning the line of passengers who had just arrived. He wondered in that moment just how someone he had barely met two months ago could mean so much to him, how she had pushed past all his barriers so softly, without ever trying to, how she made him feel something so pure and yet so passionate.

 _How did it happen?_

When _did it happen?_

She saw him.

And the relief, the joy, the sheer _happiness_ he saw in her eyes at that moment ignited a sun in his body.

She weaved a way through the crowd while he rushed toward her. Before he knew what was happening, he had dropped his luggage and was pressing her against him.

And he knew then. As he held her close and breathed in her scent and sighed of relief, as she tightened her embrace and exhaled and nuzzled in his neck, he knew. There was no doubt about it. No 'perhaps' or 'maybe' or 'I guess' or any of the messy suppositions that had hovered and buzzed in his mind. Just the gentle embrace of that one thought, solid as an anchor, soothing with its certainty, with the truth of it so clear and immutable.

 _Of course. How come I never noticed?_

They broke the hug then, and burst out laughing together, at their elation and their behavior. Her laugh echoed in every fiber of his body, and it struck him, just how much he had missed her.

When they stopped laughing, they just stood there, together. And he drank the moment.

The airport hubbub dulling to a whisper. The faint voice of a man greeting his wife near them. The purple backpack with a green frog of a little girl staring at them while her mother scolded her. The scent of plastic wrap, rubber luggage, floor cleaning products, and an old woman's powdery perfume as she swooshed past them to hug her grandchildren. The faint taste of the sweet treats he had been given in the blimp. The airport hostesses calling late passengers for immediate boarding. The warm sun coming through the large windows and painting bright squares on the floor. The clock ringing noon.

And her.

Her big green eyes twinkling with joy. Her rosy cheeks. Her sunny grin. The colorful floral pattern of her dress. The puppy paw on her neck. Her dimples. The strand of hair lining her face. The spark of her ear rings. Her very distinct sweet and fizzy grapefruit scent.

He would remember this moment. A year later. Or two. Or ten. He would remember it. He already felt it engraved in his mind, a milestone in his life. Because at that moment, he knew. Her smile, her laugh, her bad jokes and bad singing voice, her many talents and her little quirks.

Just her.

He was falling for her.

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, son, took you long enough to realize that! (though for real it's been 2-3 months for them lol). I must say, I like how Hana realized in chapter 10 that she was crushing on him, and then she gradually falls for him, but Killua just doesn't have a clue till one day he straight up tells himself 'Yeeeeep. I'm in love.' I have so much fun with these two lol.

Annnd I hope the little cheeky/suggestive talks didn't bother you too much. Partly because Hanallua is only getting hotter so it could be a problem lol (hey, I warned you in the prologue!). Don't hesitate to ask for warnings if you're not comfortable with that.

Anyway, what did you think about the chapter? What was your favorite moment? Tell me in a review what you thought! ;)

Next chapter is called **Sugar** , it's long, romantic and healthy because my babies are gonna talk a lot and do cute stuff. Yay. I really hope you'll like it. I've been talking about it for so long, I really hope I won't disappoint lol.

Until then, you've got an excerpt below to see what you're in for!

See you in two weeks ;) Bye!

* * *

 _Ever since Killua had come back, Elias had had the privilege to watch the most domestic non-couple in existence preparing lunch together. All the while sitting in silence like their awkward child unsure of when he could interrupt his parents to ask if he could leave the table._

 _No, really, that was exactly how he felt._

 _When he had first met Hana, when he had first seen her interact with Killua, it had been obvious to him that there was something going on between them. A little cheesy spark, a shared glance that held more meaning than he could decipher, a tiny hint of jealousy peeking through their perfect composure. He was an observing fellow, that kind of stuff couldn't go unnoticed by his trained eye._

 _However, Elias had never imagined that this something between them could be so… big._

 _So big and, well, so_ ignored _._

 _Because the one thing that was more ridiculous than them behaving like an old couple was them completely ignoring it. What was it called? Blatant obliviousness? Denial? Overwhelming self-doubt? Insecurities? Or perhaps they were more stupid than he'd given them credit for? Heh, your pick. You call it. Elias personally preferred to call it the 'I'm afraid I'm the only one feeling that way so I'm going to pretend you don't like me even though you practically proposed to me (but that's irrelevant)' syndrome._

 _Also known as the 'we're both fucking idiots' syndrome._


	24. Sugar

**A/N:** Hi guys! How have you been?

So it's already update day yay! With a freakishly huge chapter, double yay!

Anyway, on the news side, chapter 25 is done! That's good news. More good news for you: hot content soon coming. And lotsa romance.

Less good news: I've got a big report to sta—I mean, finish for the end of the month, so idk when I'll write chap26 and 27… I mean, chap 27 is halfway there but chap 26 is empty… So wish me luck and encourage me, I'm gonna need it :')

Okay anyway, this chapter is huge enough as it is… so I'll keep this short. Thank you guys for always supporting me! For the faves, the follows, and especially the reviews! I love you so much ahh ;-;

Now on to the chapter!

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 **Replies to guest reviews:**

 **Irem** : OMG Thank you so much for saying such sweet things about my fic! I'm really, really happy you like it! I wish you the best of luck for your entrance exams, it sounds really harsh but you can do it! ;) (also feel free to ramble about your life!)  
Oh also! I listened to the song and it's sooo calming I like it! I LOVE how you caught the strong attraction between them and the way they're becoming, um, inappropriate XD If you like details you're gonna be happy! (just as a hint: the "smut" is like 6k long lol… I say "smut" because I don't know if it's smut, all I know is that it's sex and not for kids so I guess that's smut?) Anyway I hope you'll like this chapter! Thank you so much for reviewing! *hugs*

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Chapter 23: **Sugar**

* * *

The crowd faded away. The noises dulled to a murmur. The names shouted as parents and children and siblings and friends and significant others reunited. The chimes of the clock ringing and ringing noon. The laughs and the squeals and the sobs and the little cries of happiness. All of it, faded away.

All that remained was him. The sound of his breathing. The regular beat of his heart. The shush of their touch. Her own wild choir of a heart blasting through her whole body. And the warmth, the delicious warmth.

In that moment, with his arms around her after two weeks without touching him, with his face buried in her neck and her hands clutching his shirt, Hana felt safe. Far from the world, shielded from everything. Unreachable in the shelter of his arms. Hidden from the curious eyes, the judgments, the rumors, the dangers. There was just the comfort of his embrace, the intimacy of it. Nothing else mattered. For a small moment, she allowed that elation to fill her whole, to roam free and undisturbed. She let herself be soothed by his delightful presence.

She breathed in deep. All over her, white musk and cold wood and the surety of his aura.

And even though _he_ had come back, she was the one who had come home.

* * *

The transition from Killua's arms to her hot car stuck in a traffic jam with hundreds of cars competing for the Loudest Honking Asshole title was… quite a slap. Ah, there was nothing like the melody of whirring motors lulling a bold orchestra of honks.

…

Yeah. Her legendary patience was thinning.

"Why is there a traffic jam at this time?" Killua asked, rummaging through the contents of his candy box. One of his, at least. The others were safely packed in his luggage.

He had quickly gone back to normal after that slip in his composure, when he had pulled her so tight against him she'd wondered who had missed the other more. She had always assumed she was the one who had suffered the most from that time apart, but perhaps she had been quick to judge.

"Lunchtime around the airport is always packed with cars." The car in front of her abruptly stopped; she hurriedly stepped on the brake, braced for the momentum, and cursed—her addition to the delicate lyrics accompanying the orchestra. "I can't believe I'm going through all that trouble for _you_."

"I could have taken a taxi, you know."

"And have me wait two more hours for your missed ass to come back? No fucking way."

He arched an eyebrow, smirking like he knew how to do it—corner of his lips barely tipping up, smoldering gaze glinting with mischief. "You _are_ head over heels for me, Hana."

She was. "Get your sass out of my car. And stop eating candies, we're about to have lunch."

He put another candy in his mouth, all the while staring at her from the corner of his eye. "Make me."

She shivered slightly. She would have _gladly_ replaced that candy with her lips if she could. Bite his lips and kiss him senselessly to wipe out that smirk from his face.

Damn him.

Damn him and his beautiful face and his sexy smirk and the fireworks he set up in her body.

"Look, I just spent two weeks babysitting Elias. One kid is enough."

He caught her impatient gaze and smirked again, most pleased with himself.

And put another candy in his mouth.

 _The asshole._

"You're too salty, Hana. You want some?" he teased.

"Ugh. You _better_ have enough room for lunch after gobbling all these sweets."

"You do know my stomach is a bottomless pit, don't you?"

"Right." She glanced at the clock. It was roughly 1 P.M.; they would arrive in about half an hour. "I suggest we immediately get to work when we're done eating lunch."

"So soon?!" he exclaimed. His face fell. "Just when I thought we'd celebrate my arrival."

"What makes you think you're that important?"

"I don't know, perhaps your sentimental good night messages. Need me to refresh your memory? 'Killua, I miss you, come back quick—'"

" _Nope._ I'm good. I get it. Ugh."

"I'm the one who gets to _ugh_. Just when I thought after two weeks apart you'd ask me on a date," he whined, pouting the Rare Adorable Killua Pout, the one pout that could get her to do anything for him if he wanted to.

She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. "Well, actually..." she started, a shy smile on her face already threatening to turn into her trademark huge grin.

He glanced in her direction. "Actually...?"

Here, her surprise was out. She was grinning like the fool in love she was. "You know, I've come to terms with my workaholic reputation. I put work above my own mental and physical health. But why do you think I'd be so desperate to work after two weeks missing your pompous ass, hm?"

Understanding dawned on his face. She could practically see the lightbulb light up above his head—and his face with it, as if she needed more reasons to be giddy. "So that we're free afterward."

" _Ding ding ding_!"

And he smiled. An excited smile. That she was the cause of. "What have you planned?"

She nodded toward the rearview mirror. "Look into my purse."

"... Can I, really?"

"Take my purse and look inside it, Killua."

"Yay. Exploration time," he said as he grabbed her purse on the backseat.

She smiled at the sound. She wasn't sure what could be so interesting about her purse, but if he was that adorable because of it, then it didn't really matter. "Now look inside the pocket on the side."

He fumbled for a moment, unzipping the bag with curious eyes. He didn't even bother masking his curiosity—which made the whole thing lovelier to her. She had grown to like a lot of his expressions—mischief, joy, sleepiness, seriousness… they were all precious to her and she treasured every single one of them. But curiosity was a whole different thing on Killua. It was a lot of eagerness with a dash of wonder and it shone through his eyes in the purest way.

And that was just her _purse_.

"Even your purse is completely in order. Witchcraft," he commented.

"Everything about me is in order, Killua. Except for my life. But that's irrelevant."

He rolled his eyes. "Your self-deprecating humor is almost as bad as Elias's." He finally found the pocket inside the bag. "Now what?"

"Take the two tickets inside."

"Uh-huh." He did as she ordered, picking the two tickets neatly placed between her check and her bank card, then examined them. "What are those?" He turned them around, reading the words on it. "The Sugar Fair?"

"Bingo! That's where we're going after work."

He blinked. "What kind of fair is it? I've never heard of it."

"Well, mister, brace yourself, this is worth a little lesson. You know how Megamshill is most known for its cultural impact on the country, right?"

"Sure?"

"Well, the fairs in Megamshill are part of that. They're often a big deal since you'll find at the fairs some goods you can't find otherwise; unless you travel a lot. It's an opportunity for communities to gather around a common theme like sugar, autumn, Christmas, and celebrate their different cultural interpretations of them."

"Uh-huh." He frowned, reading the name of the fair on the tickets again. "So the Sugar Fair is happening soon?"

"Yep!"

He glanced at her, a little spark of excitement glinting in his eyes. "Is this fair about what I think it is?"

"It's exactly what you think it is. A fair about sugar. The one fair in the year where people from all cultures in Megamshill will flood the place with their sweets and desserts."

He signed of pleasure. "Heaven. You're bringing me to Heaven, Hana."

 _I sure as hell would like to_ , she thought. "Yeah, but it was hell to get those tickets." She tipped her chin up. "All that for you."

"You deserve a kiss."

She gave him her cheek, lightly tapping it with one finger, grinning the way she knew could make him melt.

And melt he did. He leaned toward her. And kissed her cheek. And lingered. Long enough for her to forget she was stuck in a damned traffic jam with a hoard of people honking and swearing in gross enough ways to make their ancestors' ghost hide in shame.

In that moment, she knew if his lips ever ended on hers, she would be completely, utterly, desperately addicted.

When he pulled back, chuckling, with the imprint of his smile on her cheek, her heart was about to flutter away. Because, damn, that was a lot of emotions in a single day, a single _hour_ to stomach. Two weeks of nothing and suddenly he was back with his gorgeousness and his smirks and his pretty blue eyes, and he was hugging her and kissing her cheek and blasting that killer rare grin of his. His ultimate weapon. Her ultimate weakness.

Damn him.

"I knew you'd be happy, but I wasn't prepared to see you _that_ happy," she admitted, still overwhelmed, still euphoric, still running her Metaphor Generator for what had just happened in her nebulous mind. So far, sunray on her cheek on a wintery day the least cheesy of the lot—as incredible as that sounded.

"Of course I am. You just blasted the doors to my heart right now."

"With candies? Really?"

"Not just candies." He glanced at her, cracking a small, charming smile. "Candies with _you_. I can't wait to try all these candies with you."

Oh no, the Liquefying Shy Smile. He could probably turn her into a puddle of cheese with that smile. The butterflies partying in her tummy were enough proof of that.

She sighed.

 _Damn him._

* * *

During the whole ride, the whole hour it took to get out of those traffic jams, through their jokes and their banter, one thought kept rewinding in Killua's mind: he was falling for Hana. Whenever she smiled and whenever she laughed—which was a lot of times—, whenever she tilted her head or tipped her chin up or puckered her lips or widened her eyes, he thought, 'I love her. I love this girl.' It was like ever since he had figured that out, the thought kept playing on repeat at every little thing she did. And it was so obvious, it made so much sense, he had no idea why he hadn't realized it sooner.

It was both a relief and a new weight. A relief because, finally, he could admit it to himself, he could stop veiling the truth, he could put words to what he felt and call it something. But secrets had a weight.

He was in a good place to know.

Eventually, though, his little bubble of peace popped. When they arrived home, Elias was waiting in her living-room.

At first, Killua tried to shrug off the thought that Hana now trusted Elias enough to leave him alone in her place—not that he was untrustworthy; Killua wouldn't have let him stay with Hana otherwise. After all, there could be a lot of reasons to that. Perhaps she had given him a task to complete, or he had proven to be trustworthy, or she had secured the sensitive information away from him—though Elias wouldn't have the motivation to snoop.

But when Elias pulled her into a hug—and she _hugged him_ _back_ —Killua had no doubt that in two weeks, something had happened between them.

At first, jealousy had seized him. The rational part of his brain was whispering, 'hey, you know Hana is a very touch-sensitive friend, so they probably just befriended each other! Besides, Elias is more into you than he's into her right?' but the jealous part was already projecting him in a close future where Hana was settling with Elias and they were married with three kids and a puppy.

Turned out, the rational part of his brain was right.

"What's up, you want a hug too?" was the first thing Elias said after releasing Hana—the teasing glint in his eyes said everything. He knew how Killua felt.

"Stay away from me."

Rather than being offended, Elias laughed his usual carefree laugh. And wrapped his arm around Hana's shoulder. Hana, who was looking a little too pleased to Killua's liking. "I've missed you too."

"You guys grew close," Killua noted, working on a casual tone, all the while rolling his briefcase to a corner of the room where it didn't take too much place.

"Don't worry, I didn't steal your girl," Elias teased, finally releasing her, and resting his hands on his hips, his insufferable smirk stuck on his face.

"I'm nobody's girl," she sang, washing her hands at the sink. "Help me set the table instead of sprouting nonsense. We should have a good lunch before working." She opened the fridge and took a few ingredients.

"I don't think I've ever met someone who's so diligent with work," Elias sighed—and Killua had to agree with that, but he was too petty to admit it.

Hana ignored the comment. "It's true that Elias and I found a common ground while you abandoned me for Wondie."

Killua's lips quirked up at the word 'abandoned'. He crossed his arms. "Common ground?"

She and Elias exchanged a look filled with childlike excitement. "Disneys," they exclaimed together and even Killua couldn't help a sigh.

"Of course. So you guys had a Disney marathon while I was gone." He feigned to pout. "I thought you wanted to marathon Disney movies with _me._ Not with that idiot."

"Don't underestimate my ability to re-watch a Disney over and over. Especially to show them to someone I like."

 _Someone I like_ , Killua thought triumphantly.

"You're not correcting him about the 'idiot' part?" Elias chimed in.

"Nah, that I can't deny."

More laughs from Killua—Elias's smile softened at the sound. "I'm glad you two became buddies," Killua said, and that was still half-true. He had no right to monitor who she was befriending and how she befriended people. He wasn't her boyfriend—and even if he were, he didn't like such controlling behavior.

Besides, he had to admit he was reassured that Elias had kept Hana company. The thought of her sad and all alone was far more unpleasant than any other thought. Including thoughts of her married to that idiot with three kids and a puppy.

"Okay guys, enough jokes. Help me with the lunch now!"

He sidled up to her at the counter, grabbed the rice bag while she cut the chicken, and started boiling water.

Elias simply watched.

Little by little, while he helped her cook, they fell in their usual routine. The easy moments they shared—even if Elias was right here watching them with what Killua felt was curiosity. She asked him questions about his trip—without mentioning work—and questions about his flight. She got worried about whether he had eaten correctly every day. He made sure she had gone to the doctor as she had promised for her yearly checkup. They discussed the results together—and he scolded her about her sleep schedule because it clearly didn't help.

He was aware Elias was watching—he absent-mindedly answered questions about what he ate and didn't, so that they could adjust the menu to his tastes.

But to be fair, Killua was too glad to be back in his routine with Hana to care about being observed.

It didn't matter.

He was home.

1:38 P.M.

Ever since Killua had come back, Elias had had the privilege to watch the most domestic non-couple in existence preparing lunch together. All the while sitting in silence like their awkward child unsure of when he could interrupt his parents to ask if he could leave the table.

No, really, that was exactly how he felt.

When he had first met Hana, when he had first seen her interact with Killua, it had been obvious to him that there was something going on between them. A little cheesy spark, a shared glance that held more meaning than he could decipher, a tiny hint of jealousy peeking through their perfect composure. He was an observing fellow, that kind of stuff couldn't go unnoticed by his trained eye.

However, Elias had never imagined that this something between them could be so… big.

So big and, well, so _ignored_.

Because the one thing that was more ridiculous than them behaving like an old couple was them completely ignoring it. What was it called? Blatant obliviousness? Denial? Overwhelming self-doubt? Insecurities? Or perhaps they were more stupid than he'd given them credit for? Heh, your pick. You call it. Elias personally preferred to call it the 'I'm afraid I'm the only one feeling that way so I'm going to pretend you don't like me even though you practically proposed to me (but that's irrelevant)' syndrome.

Also known as the 'we're both fucking idiots' syndrome.

"Elias?"

He flinched, blinked, met Killua's narrowed eyes. "Huh, yeah?"

"What's up with you being so… quiet? You haven't said a single stupid thing since I've come back. You sure everything's okay?"

Hana giggled as she shook the pan on the stove—but Killua was serious. Elias wasn't sure he should be moved or offended. "I was… thinking," he said—though that sounded terribly unconvincing.

The answer didn't seem to reassure Killua, who arched an eyebrow. Behind him, Hana was an entertained spectator to their interaction—which consisted of Killua roasting Elias without even meaning to. "You? _Thinking_?" Killua insisted.

"It happens. Sometimes."

"What is it that triggered this… uncharacteristic behavior?"

There, she was giggling again. The worst part was that Elias didn't even mind because her giggle was cute and he knew Killua was secretly liking it.

… Wait, had he become selfless to the point where he let himself be roasted just so some guy got to hear his crush's laugh?

Like hell. Someone had to open these idiots' eyes.

" _You_ did," Elias admitted. "I'm wondering how two hot people like you two, with so much _chemistry_ between you, aren't dating yet. I can barely fathom it. You're practically _married_."

Hana brandished a spoon toward him. "The real Elias would never use such smart words as 'fathom'!" she said in a mock-accusing voice.

"Hey, I'm a reader!"

But she didn't let go. "Also, he would be trying to get into Killua's pants rather than pair me up with him."

(She wasn't wrong.) "… I can do both. And seduce _you_ with that."

"Multitasking Elias," Killua deadpanned.

"You bet. I'm all for threesomes."

Hana burst out laughing as Killua rolled his eyes—he was amused, he just didn't want to let Elias see it. Elias had come to learn Killua was his own kind of petty. "Good to see I had no reason to be worried. You're still an idiot."

To which Elias replied with a shrug and a smile. Clearly, they were not willing to talk about their deliberate ignorance of their attraction. Who knew, they probably weren't ready. "I'm almost turned on when you insult me."

"No surprise here. You were turned on when I tried to kill you."

"Okay, but _that_ was hot." Then, to Hana: "You should have _seen_ him. With all that lightning and that power and that sharp gaze. It made me feel a little hot and bothered. I wouldn't have minded being killed by him."

"I _know_ ," she exclaimed. "His hatsu is so pretty. I never thought I'd ever say that."

"Moon storms," he said, closing his eyes at his genius comparison.

She widened her eyes. "That's it! That's the perfect way to describe it!"

"I know. I don't look like it, but I actually write poetry."

"I'd love to read it someday," she said, and she sounded genuine.

"One day, my child, I'll enlighten you."

"Is that poetry PG-13?" Killua intervened as he put a bowl of fuming white rice on the table—just as Hana put the korma chicken next to it. Elias had been so focused in the conversation he had forgotten he was starving. The lunch was simple enough but it was so different from his usual diet—pizzas and pastas and eventually burgers when he needed some meat. Killua sat across the table, between Hana and Elias—who were facing each other.

"Why would you want it to be PG-13? There are no children here," Elias opposed with a smirk.

"Then behave like an adult."

Hana whistled. "Ouch. I wouldn't have liked that."

Elias tapped his chest. "I'm tough."

"Anyway, let's get to work," Killua interrupted, serving some rice on their plates. "Or at least discuss what we found in those two weeks."

"Good idea," Hana commented. She gave him a big spoon to serve the chicken. "I suggest we start with what Elias and I found." She looked pointedly at Elias. "You wanna start?"

That sounded more like an order than a question. "Babe, you know I don't do well on an empty stomach."

She shrugged. "Okay. I'll start then" She served the rice on their plates. "We found more information about Faem."

"More like, we could both write his biography from memory," Elias mumbled, still sour over all the work she had made him do.

"His real name is Erik Chevalier, but he took his mother's maiden name, Faem, when he turned eighteen. He's gonna turn forty-five in October. His mother died when he was ten. Officially, it's said that she committed suicide."

"And… unofficially?" Killua asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Grievous bodily harm. Most likely domestic abuse."

He grimaced. "No wonder Faem would hate his dad," he said in a weary voice.

"You knew?" Elias asked.

"Mulgrad mentioned Faem betraying his father. He never clarified. But I didn't know it could be because of that… How did you find the evidence?"

Elias gulped down his glass of water. "Hana found the classified testimony of an old maid who used to work there; the police never used it. She left the household after that."

"In the testimony, she said she'd hear the father argue with Faem's mom for hours, then glass breaking, screams, blows. The next day she would have to clean a real battleground of shattered glass and pools of alcohol. Faem was a kid at the time and she'd tell him stories so he didn't hear.

"At first, she said she didn't want to talk about it. She knew the father was into shady shit and she was afraid for her safety—and her family's. But one day, she realized he was also taking it out on little Erik himself. She saw bruises on the child. She couldn't stay quiet anymore."

"Only thing was, it was too late when she found the courage to come forward," Elias sighed. "The wife died. And nobody listened to the maid's testimony."

"Is she still alive?"

"She should be," Hana answered. "I think she was sincere about wanting to save Faem but she knew the threats and decided to save her family. It's understandable. Since she didn't even have the support of the police, she probably feared Faem's dad threatening her family."

"But if it's necessary, we could contact her," Killua said. "After the death of Faem's mom, what happened? Did his father keep abusing him?"

"Apparently," Elias said with his mouth full. He swallowed. "Hana found a complaint filed by a teacher of his—also classified, the case was never opened. Faem was sixteen at the time."

"None of these testimonies were ever brought to light," Hana said.

Killua nodded. "Next?"

She continued listing the facts they had learned about Faem. "His father died when Erik was twenty-two—killed, though it is unsure who did it. The case was quickly swept under the rug; there is no testimony, and Faem had a solid alibi."

"Then, Faem takes on the family business. He gets his degree in business and boosts the cement factory."

"And keeps doing shady shit," Killua scoffed. "Any reason for that? Why did he keep his father's business going?"

Hana frowned. "That we don't know. Could be to prove a point, or because he has a precise goal in mind."

"Okay. What about his friendships? Anything about Ziam Torana?"

"Childhood friends. They grew up together," Hana informed, all the while frowning. "They went to the same school. Erik because his father had the means, Ziam because he had earned a scholarship thanks to his grades. But they knew each other before that."

"We found one crumpled picture of them at kindergarten holding hands," Elias mused. "Almost adorable, if you forget what he did to his friend."

"How does one go from holding his friend's hand to killing him," Killua said under his breath.

Hana tapped her napkin on her mouth. "There's more. Remember Ziam's wife, Sana? She knew Faem too. They met in high school—a tight-knit group of three. Faem was Ziam's best man at their wedding."

"And he bought the playground they used to go to, a year after Ziam's death. He renamed it 'To the Stars', a sentence they would write to end all of their personal correspondence—or at least, the little that wasn't destroyed," Elias added. "And it's not even something he did for public acknowledgment. We had to _dig_ to find that bit of info."

Killua exhaled soundly. "This is confusing. Why would he do that if he wanted Ziam dead?"

"How are you so sure he killed Ziam himself?" Elias asked.

"He didn't. Remember the toxic smokes that killed Mulgrad? That I inhaled and nearly died of? The whole self-combusting, charred to the bone, fireless smoke shit? Covered with arson afterwards?"

"… Yeah?"

"This is how Ziam and his whole family died. Although it was only a speculation of mine that the deaths have the same source. I thought Faem was only acting as Ziam's friend, but this sounds too honest. I'm not so sure anymore."

"Why Faem?"

"Mulgrad died when he revealed to Killua that he was working for Faem," Hana explained. Then, she turned to Killua. "And I do think the deaths are linked. It's not every day that corpses like Mulgrad's are found. I've contacted a doctor I know, who works at the morgue, and she detailed to me how exactly bodies burn."

Elias tapped his plate with his spoon. "Keep it clean, I'm still eating."

She rolled her eyes. "It takes two to three hours for the average human body to burn completely. Mulgrad's, per what you said, was completely calcified after barely a few seconds. And didn't produce any ash."

"Yeah. He just shrunk and 'burnt' without any fire."

She nodded. "Ziam's and his family's corpses burnt for half an hour—that's written in the official report. At this state, they shouldn't have been burnt to the bone. Also, the doctor told me that burnt bodies usually have a fine layer of grease on them—result of melting fat and flesh."

Elias grimaced. "So much for my appetite."

Killua's eyelids twitched—Elias had learned that this meant he had understood something. "And yet when the bodies were found, they were charred to the bone. They shouldn't have been in that taste. Unless they were cursed by the same nen curse."

"Exactly. Your theory stands—Ziam's family was killed by the same guy who cursed Mulgrad. The guy who works for Faem. And it was covered by Faem the same way his father covered his mother's death—by silencing the specialists and the police."

"So now, we need to know if Faem asked him to do it, or if he did this on his own account, without being ordered to do it," Killua deduced.

"Thing is, the guy who killed Ziam is obviously still working for Faem, so even if he wasn't asked to kill Ziam, he wasn't fired either. So perhaps Faem is being manipulated by that guy. I mean, who knows."

Killua considered what Elias had just said with comical surprise. "I can't believe you just said something smart."

"… Thanks?"

"It's a good theory, but until we know for sure, we should be careful," Hana reminded. "He's still our enemy, he still hates our guts."

"Or ours, for that matter. Elias and I. He still doesn't know about you—and it should remain that way."

"I know."

"Did you find anything else?" Killua pressed.

"Not much. He married a woman named Olivia Moregon in his late twenties; they never had children. I couldn't find a lot of info about them, or what kind of husband he is, but Elias did find something."

"Only rumors," Elias clarified. "From the underworld. Back when I tried to find out who Faem was, since he wanted to hire me, I usually found the same thing over and over: touch his wife, and he'll kill you. So he's either madly possessive or he genuinely cares about her and her wellbeing."

"Nice job," Killua said, and it felt strangely satisfying to receive even such a small compliment from him. "It's safe to assume she knows he's an active part of the Mafia, I presume, right?"

Elias scoffed a little. "Completely safe. The Moregon used to be a powerful family in the Mafia, with Gerard Moregon at their head. His business thrived off sex slavery before Eleanora Montsiege shut him down. They wanted to hire me at some point—but I refused. Gerard was probably one the shittiest among the shittiest. Some rumors even say he pimped his own daughters."

Hana visibly shuddered. "This is disgusting."

"You bet it is," Elias mumbled. "I've associated with a lot of shitty people, but he's raising the bar of shitty, trust me. When his business fell, he tried to find suitors for his daughters—tough shit because nobody wanted to be associated with him anymore, they knew he would leech off their wealth."

"Except Faem," Killua inferred.

"Yeah. He gained no advantage from that marriage—unless he loved the woman," Elias thought aloud. "He's still providing for her father. And making sure he doesn't come anywhere close his daughter—I heard there was an agreement between them, that as long as Faem provided for him, he would leave Olivia alone. I have no idea what Olivia went through in that household, but Faem is protecting her from that."

Killua piled the empty plates and stood up to put them in the sink. "So we basically have an enemy with blurry motivations who's at once a survivor of parental abuse who watched his mother die and a savior in love with his sweetheart, who secretly honored his best friend's death even though he supposedly caused it, and who is looking for this goddamned comb for one reason or another."

"It all comes down to his motivations," Hana concluded. "Why does he seek the comb that bad? Is it for him? For someone else? Is he being manipulated?"

"Even if he's being manipulated, Faem isn't just some good guy gone wrong," Elias intervened. "He willingly took after his father's business even though he knew it was shady shit. He could have distanced himself from the Mafia but he didn't. He kills anyone who knows a little bit too much about him. And he's corrupting the administrations too." A bitter smile formed on his lips. "He does torture people in those secret headquarters of his. Not all people with tragic backstories turn into sour assholes who brand other people for info."

"True," Killua agreed, with something understanding in his eyes. "There's no excuse for what he did. But we need a better portrait of the character. Actually, what you guys found answered one of the biggest questions I had in mind."

Hana came back to sit after placing a plate of cupcakes in the middle of the table. "Which is?"

"Why isn't he taking action? Why isn't he lashing out at the people I care about? He knows I'm a nuisance. He knows I'd do anything to protect those I love. And he has precise information about all the people I love." He leaned back in his chair after taking a cupcake. "The answer is simple."

"Do tell?" Hana pressed.

A wicked smile appeared on Killua's face. "Faem, too, has people he cares about."

* * *

Once lunch was done, they were back to the working room—the dreadful room that Elias loathed, as he had repeatedly let her know during the two weeks she had dragged him there. Not that it had stopped her—hell no.

Killua was peeling through the evidence they had found about Faem while Elias sat at her desk and resumed doing his favorite task—absolutely nothing.

Meanwhile, she flipped the board to the side Killua had written on. "Okay. We've established Faem is acting strange, since he really cares about that best friend who died because of someone in his ranks. That he is potentially madly in love with his wife—which is why he hasn't killed your friends yet; he's afraid of a vengeance. What now?"

Killua took a marker and scribbled something on the Board of Evidence—the proud name he had given to his fancy collage, much to Hana's amusement. "Now, we share everything and try to come up with a plan for the next days."

She peered at what he had written on the board. She managed to decipher a 'Scylla' that looked more like a strange, lopsided 'Mjlla'.

"… Mywa?" Elias tried to read, squinting at the inscription.

" _Scylla_ , you dumbass," Killua corrected.

"That's a 'Scylla?" Elias said to himself, with so much disbelief, he was just genuinely intrigued by the scribbly lines on the board.

"Scylla is the person Mulgrad sold all of Faem's info to," she recalled. "Their handwriting is different from Charybdis'. I think they're two different people."

"Charybdis and Scylla. Squad goals," Elias joked.

She couldn't help a chuckle at the lame joke. "Whoever they are, it can't be a coincidence. The folder I stole doesn't contain enough explicit information about them at first sight—I have yet to finish working on it. From the little I got, Scylla seems fancier than Charybdis—I'm thinking rich families, the kind that gives their kids calligraphy and etiquette classes. Scylla is always very poised and polite in their correspondence with Mulgrad. I picture them as the calculating kind—in a very subtle way," she said as she picked the letter and skimmed through it. "When you read their letter, you don't necessarily pick up on the hints, but they tend to _guide_ you to what they want—subtle and smart manipulation."

"Not your average mobster," Killua commented.

"Pretty much. They use a lot of beautiful imagery and polite expressions—they seem very delicate. I wager they're a writer of some sort. But that's all I understood from them."

"You did great," Killua assured. He glanced at Elias. "Both of you. Now's my turn to share what I've got."

She leaned on her elbows, focusing on what he was to say. "About Wondie? What did he tell you?"

He smiled a little at the nickname. "Disturbing shit. He said Swatscher's memories could _possibly_ be found if we search hard enough. He doesn't know where they are but he did have a vial of them. It's safe to assume the memories haven't been consumed yet—they're poisoned, like all of his productions."

"Where can it be found?" she asked after glancing at Elias—talking about his parents' killer had to be straining.

"He mentioned a Memory Market… whose place and date change every year. It's some underground business, apparently. You guys have any idea how to find it?"

"I think I do," Elias started. The seriousness in his eyes was peculiar, foreign even. There was a hard edge in it, a drop of poison diluted in pure waters. Something a lot like hatred—one he had learned to expertly hide. But during those two weeks they had spent together, Hana had learned to read his skillfully concealed emotions. Perhaps because she was just the same. "I never went to it, but I did hear one guy or two mention it back in the days. It's obviously got something to with the black market and the Mafia. I'm about sure I could find the date and place if I press the right people."

"All by yourself?" she intervened. "You're gonna be okay?"

"I'd rather do that than paperwork," he mumbled. "It's nothing unusual. I used to do that all the time. Fish for info, talk to people. Besides, I know how the Underground works. I tried to never dabble too much in its shadiest organs because it's dangerous—and far too hardcore for me. But I'll be careful. I'm positive that now I can help."

"You do that," Killua agreed. "It's safer since you already know the territory. Just be careful because if the people who participate to that Memory Market are anything like Baroque, you don't want anything to do with them."

Elias flashed a smirk. "You worried about me?"

"I'm worried about the plan and the way it will fail if you're not careful."

"Ouch."

 _Harsh_ , she thought with amusement. "I'm curious about the kind of memories that are sold there," she changed the subject. "If the market is a deep-web-like structure then I suppose you'd find a bunch of disturbing shit there."

"You bet," Elias scoffed. "From the little I heard, you can find anything in that market. I don't know much but I do remember being shocked as fuck when I heard about it. Like, you could find memories of murders, torture, of political scandals, secrets, dangerous situations, whatever. The most candid stuff you can find are orgasms and breakdowns—when they're not caused by anything gore. I never wanted to learn more about it after hearing that."

"Murders," she repeated, grimacing at the thought.

Killua crossed his arms. "Not all killers can kill. So they derive pleasure from living through a killer's memories. That's how they live their fantasy of bloodlust."

"It's like gore porn," Elias noted. "There are all kinds of people in the world. Some like cuddling puppies and holding hands, and some jerk it to murder."

The thought sent chills down her spine. "Anyway, you still have something on your mind, Killua," she said, nodding at him. "Did Baroque say anything else?"

He narrowed his eyes, a far-away look in his eyes. "He mentioned memory trading… whatever that is. Got me wondering if there are more people like him, who can somehow trade memories or turn them into physical objects." He finally looked at her. "Remember Pakunoda?"

"Pakunoda?" Elias asked.

"Back when I was twelve, with Gon, we both stumbled upon a woman who could read people's memory simply by touching them and then transfer her own memories to people of her choice via bullets she conjured and shot at them."

She frowned. Killua had already told her about that woman. She had been a limb of the Spider, a member of the Phantom Troup, Class A Criminals. 'Stumbling upon' her was a severe understatement. Hana was about sure she and her Spider buddies had held Gon and Killua hostage for long hours.

"That's not an ability that goes unnoticed," Elias commented. "I can ask around, if you want. The Underground can be a mine of info when you know where to look."

"Thanks, but it's not that important, I think. I'm just curious. Baroque mentioned memory trading like it was a branch of abilities."

"Why don't you ask your nen teacher, Wing?" she suggested, hoping she got his name right.

His face lit up. "Good idea. I'll do that when I have a moment. It won't hurt to check"

Elias stood up. "Great. So it's all settled. We even have a plan. I look for the Memory Market, you do paperwork. Amazing. Can I go now? I need to nap," Elias said.

"You're exactly like a toddler—minus the cuteness," Killua muttered.

"I'm cute alright, man."

She took Scylla's folder and put it on the desk. "You can go if you want. Killua and I are gonna work a bit. We'll try to get some stuff done. You focus on your task; try to report as often as you can."

"Yes, ma'am."

"One thing though," she said as she walked him to the door, Killua at her heels. "I won't reachable tonight. Neither will Killua be. It's not negotiable. So tonight, you're free to do whatever you want. But until then," she quickly added when she saw his gleeful face, "try to work. We need the date and place of the Memory Market as soon as possible. It's a time-sensitive task, gotcha?"

"Yep. No worries; the Underground is relatively quiet in May. Shit starts happening in June so if anything I've got a few days."

"Don't slack," she warned. "We're counting on you."

"You can," he assured, patting her shoulder. "For once, you actually can."

She briefly pulled him into a hug. "Good boy."

He hugged her back. "I'm feeling like a puppy right now." They broke the hug. "Enjoy your romantic evening, kids. I won't disturb you," he said, looking pointedly at Killua—who was pretending not to be pissed.

"Whatever. Get out," he replied, rolling his eyes.

"So much love. Anyway, I'll get going. Elias out. Enjoy yourselves."

"We will. You be careful!" she threw before he completely disappeared at the end of the corridor.

"Yes mom. Bye!"

And then he was gone.

She locked the door, turning around to meet Killua's annoyed gaze. She flashed her most innocent smile at him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Let's get to work."

"Oh wow, how diligent," she said on their way to the workroom. "Are you jealous?"

"Of?"

"Oh, you know what I'm talking about. You look pissed every time I hug him."

"Please. I've slept with you," he brushed it off. "Not my place to tell you who to hug and to not."

She smiled fondly. "You've slept in my _bed_ , Killua. You haven't slept with me."

"Not yet," he corrected with a smirk.

She chortled. "You think I'll fall for that playboy smirk of yours?" she said as she swiveled to meet his eyes.

He sneaked his hands on her waist. "I don't need that to make you fall for me, Hana. You're already crazy about me."

She rested her hands on his arms, drowned her gaze in the depths of his blue eyes for a long moment. A moment during which her mind bustled with incoherent thoughts—many of which ended with her lips on his lips.

"I'm perfectly sane," she countered, not leaving his eyes a single second. "I've resisted those pretty eyes of yours for two months. I'm tough."

"I wouldn't say that if I were you," he breathed, his lips stretching in a sensual smile. "You don't know the moment it all changes." She stared in his eyes, following his gaze, hypnotized by the pull between them. "What if that moment…" He tightened his grip on her waist, stealing a soundless gasp from her. "… is now?"

Her heart pounded in her chest, an impatient, uncontrollable beast.

Elias's words came back to her mind then. His surprise at their resistance, their ignored chemistry. Their wasted attraction. It made her think, what was stopping them? Was it her fear to bind him to her problems? Her apprehension at the unknown, at the possible change in their relationship?

What if Killua was right? What if it was bound to change?

What if the moment it changed really was _now_?

The answer wasn't 'yes'. They smiled and let go and made a few flirty jokes to cover their mutual disappointment, and she cursed herself for not making her damn mind and taking a damn step forward and listening to the supplications of that impatient beast in her chest.

But what Hana didn't know yet was that the answer wasn't 'no' either. Because even though they didn't kiss at this exact moment, even though she had wasted one more opportunity to finally make things change, it was only a matter of hours.

And what a change it would be. Because even though she didn't suspect it at all, less than two weeks from that day, from that moment when she had been so upset at her indecision, his face would be between her legs and she would be moaning his name till her voice was sore.

And she had no idea.

* * *

 **8:23 P.M.**

Heaven.

He was in heaven.

All around him, candies.

Candies in all the possible forms. Hard and soft. Hot and cold and mild. Tender and crunchy and both. Gooey and firm. Sticky and dry. Liquid and solid. Rocky and cottony. Fruity and chocolaty and creamy and minty. With and without nuts. Fudgy and funky and artsy and sugary.

Candies in all the possible ways. Cookies, cakes, ice-cream, cotton-candy, brownies.

Candies from all the possible _places_. French and Lebanese, Moroccan and Japanese, Italian and Chinese, Indian and English, Swedish and German. The crêpes and the _atayef_ , the _maamool_ and the mochis, the tiramisus and the _tanghulus_ , the mango _lassi_ and the pudding, the chocolate balls and the black forests. Dried grapefruit and candied peaches from Tanalea, sweet snowballs from the Sugar Snows, Flower Cream from Tona Riva, cinnamon cookies from the Tawny Valleys, and, of course, the traditional Rainbow Clouds and Foggy Nights, two stringy, cloudy, glittery cotton-candy-like desserts from Megamshill.

Clearly, he was having the time of his life.

"I'm gonna warn you," she started as she finished her _basma bi jeben_ , "I don't have room for much more dessert. I'm gonna burst."

"That's a pity. Because I could go all night long," he said with a smirk—and that was probably true, both what he meant and what he implied.

"I don't have that much stamina, unfortunately. Whatever you're talking about."

"You must be joking, right? I'm sure you're the kind to ask for seconds and drive your guy crazy."

"… Shut up. They never complained."

"Well, I wouldn't complain. For sure."

She laughed. "Is that an invitation?" she asked in a flirty voice.

"Perhaps it is." He gobbled the last mochi in his plate. "I'm in heaven," he moaned, sighing after he swallowed. Who could have thought sweet red-bean-filled rice buns would be so good?

"How do you even have this much room in your stomach? Where do you keep all this food?"

"Toldya. A bottomless pit."

"It's almost scary! My belly is about to burst. I look like freaking Shrek while you're still devouring candies. Do you ever feel full?"

"'Course I do. Just not tonight. I've been given a free expansion of my stomach for tonight so I can make the most of the fair."

"You'll be sick tomorrow," she mumbled.

"Then you'll nurse me back to health."

She elbowed him. "With peppers and licorice."

He grimaced. " _Ugh_. Why would you say that? The thought alone makes me sick."

"I'm aware. That was on purpose. Just because I've been nice once or twice doesn't mean you should forget my real nature."

"You think I can forget you're a petty, smug, attention-seeking, dramatic, overexcited, annoying thing?" he scoffed.

She feigned an offended face. "How _rude_! You should be honored that I seek _your_ attention."

He poked her cheek. "Whatever. I'm gonna pretend you didn't just say that. To punish you, we're gonna stay even longer."

"Oh _God._ "

And stay they did. One hour, two hours. Zigzagging between the little booths, tasting all kinds of candies. Despite her complains, she still tried the nougats—and bought half a dozen of different flavored nougat bars—and the macarons—how could she resist those when she was such a macaron junkie? At some point, they tried some flashy neon-colored stringy candies in a booth occupied by a stylish woman with bright eyeshadow and skittles-colored nails. They both ended with vibrant rainbow tongues and took a selfie together—a hard task when they were both unable to stop laughing at their dubiously colored teeth.

It took fifteen minutes and a cup of virgin mojito to wash away the colors. Which was just enough time for Killua to try three more booths—maple syrup pancakes, praline spread, grilled almonds, sugar-covered peanuts… his taste buds were partying.

After Killua's trip to hazelnut-land, Hana found the booth of a cupcake maker and insisted they visit it. She marveled at the expertly decorated cupcakes in the booth held by a bearded man in an apron and chatted with him as though she had always known him while Killua drooled at the little cakes. Apparently, the man's name was Ralph and he used to be a biker, but his lifelong passion had always been baking, so two years ago, he decided to open his own bakery and live his dream. Sure enough, after barely ten minutes, it turned out he and Hana had a friend in common and they spent another ten minutes discussing the various achievements of that mutual friend. They finally bid goodbyes after heartily laughing together at their friend's antics—and after Ralph let Killua eat a cupcake he had been ogling for the past minutes, for free.

Killua still felt the perfect icing melt on his tongue when the cupcake was gone for good—joining the mountain of other sweets piling in his stomach like a hardcore Tetris game. "If you can get me more free candies then feel free to come forward."

"You don't need me for that. Just smile and they'll melt," she replied, brushing his lower lip with her thumb to remove some remnants of icing—and then licking it.

He swallowed at the sight—who could have thought it would be that… sexy? "Would you melt if I smiled?"

"I'm Killua-proof. A side-effect of bearing with your smug ass."

"The pot and the kettle, Hana."

"Whatever. You want some candy apples?" she asked, pointing at the booth with fairy lights lining the structure. "I could make some room for a nice, juicy candy apple."

"Sure. Can't say no to that."

She dragged him to the booth—as if he'd have resisted—and ordered two candy apples to the man in charge of the booth, who grinned at her with his brightest smile.

The jolly man picked two ripe, shiny apples and handed them out to Hana. "For the couple!"

Hana took the apples, exchanging a knowing grin with Killua at the mention of 'couple'. Neither of them tried to deny it. Then, she bid goodbye to the man and gave Killua his candy apple—after somehow managing to talk the man into giving her his recipe.

"So we're a couple now," she said, scooting closer to him.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, chuckling. "Apparently."

"You didn't try to deny it."

"Neither did you," he shot back.

"That's because I'd feel bad breaking his illusion. What's your excuse?"

He swallowed his bite of candy apple—boy, it tasted so good. "I'm not a fan of that cliché where people get like 'oh what a cute couple!' and the couple gets all 'ew no we're not dating!'"

She pouted. "I like that! It's cute. I'm always fangirling when the couple denies that they're dating in movies."

"That's because you're a moron."

"And you're an asshole," she fired back.

He squeezed her shoulder. "On a side note, you do realize we're practically married at this point. I can see where Elias is coming from. I don't think anyone's ever been so worried about me before. During my trip, you called me every night to make sure I had eaten, locked my door, slept and showered. Just like a mom or… a wife."

"You're one to talk. Always scolding me about my sleep schedule."

"Your sleep schedule is hell, Hana."

"Whatever. You're just using that as an excuse to sleep in my bed."

"I don't need an excuse to sleep in your bed. You're the one who shackles me to it."

"Says the nerd who thinks I'm his Teddy Bear every single morning."

"Says the moron who begs for cuddles every single morning."

She scoffed. "There's nothing like waking up to you snoring in my ear."

"Whatever," he dismissed. "I was being all cute listing the evidence we're married and you broke my streak. Moron."

"You want evidence? Here you go. You make breakfast for me every morning when you sleep over. You sleep at my place more often than you do at your own. We eat together almost all the time and we are constantly bickering about the best brand of whatever we decided to eat. You have a toothbrush at my place and some clothes in my closet and so do I."

He finished his candy apple and threw the stick in a nearby trash. "You do the dishes when we eat at my place because you know I hate doing them."

"And you did my laundry last time."

"I did?" he asked, frowning.

"You don't remember? You found me pulling an all-nighter to work, scolded me and put me to bed, and when I woke up my laundry was done."

He made a non-committal noise. "I'm adorable."

"You are. You buy me period products when I'm too busy with work. You even know what brand I use and what to buy to make me feel better."

"Well, you did the groceries for me last time my day was packed."

She grinned. "And you came with me to the doctor's last time when I needed an appointment for my pill. I'm pretty sure people thought we were dating."

"That I was the reason you needed the pill?"

"Probably," she agreed.

He laughed. "I'd make such an adorable husband. When did we even grow so close?"

"No idea. It just happened." She rested her head on his shoulder. "I'm so glad to have you home. Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if I hadn't met you."

"Why do you think about stuff that's never happening?" he scolded.

"I don't know. It's just, I imagine how miserable I'd be and how miserable Tom would be because it's not easy to be friends with me. I'd be driving him crazy with worry. I think he feels better to know that you're here, too."

He frowned. "He never complained, did he?" he noted, his voice soft but firm.

"No. But he wouldn't. I know it's hard being friends with me because you never know when I'm drowning."

"Hey, stop it," he warned softly, squeezing her shoulder. "You do have issues but that doesn't make you a bad friend. Everyone's got problems. And you're actually working on yours."

"I'm only starting."

"A start is all you need. Once you've found the will to make the first step, you've already won."

She let out a rueful chuckle. "You believe so much in me."

"I do. And I want you to."

She remained silent. He held back a sigh.

She didn't bring up the topic anymore as they finished going around the fair. The truth was, he was starting to reach his limit—his stomach was begging him to stop—and his attention was elsewhere. He stole glances toward her when he could, checking if she was truly feeling good or not because even though he knew her well, sometimes he was afraid he wouldn't see her mask.

Eventually though, nearly three hours, two destroyed stomachs and two pairs of jeans threatening to crack later, they decided to go home. A wise decision really, because one more candy would have turned his blood to syrup and his teeth to candy cane.

"I'm so full you could just make me roll like a barrel!" she exclaimed, holding her stomach like it pulled her to the ground.

He laughed, and she kept joking as they walked, taking their time to enjoy the fresh air of a May night—and to not make their overfull stomachs explode.

It had been so long since he had last enjoyed himself that much. Not thinking about any of his issues, any of his worries, just having fun and eating nice food and being with her.

He wondered, without sadness, if Alluka would have liked the heart-shaped glistening candies at the candy-jewel booth. And he promised himself that the next year, he would bring Alluka, so she could experience the same glee at this phenomenal display of candies.

When was the last time he had thought about Alluka's condition with so much hope? He felt foolish to make plans and hope, just hope for her to be with him. But at the same time, he felt indescribably happy.

"What are you thinking about?"

He smiled at her question, unabashed. "My sister," he admitted, watching her flinch a little with excitement at the mention of his sister—a topic he had rarely broached with her or anyone.

"You never told me much about Alluka," she noticed. Her curiosity was so obvious in her voice, it was adorable.

"There's too much to say." He looked at her. "What do you want to know?"

She blinked with surprise. "Um. I never considered getting this far."

He chuckled. "Go on. Ask away."

She thought for a little moment, as though she were sorting her questions and deciding which ones needed most to be answered. "Why is she not… with you?"

There, the little pause in her question. "Alluka isn't safe with me," he honestly answered. "She has a sort of power, and people are after her. I left her with people who are like her. Because she wanted to. She _asked_ me to."

Hana nodded carefully. "Don't you call her, though? Wait, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you sad," she quickly added when she saw the change in his expression—no matter how controlled it was, she always caught it.

"She called me during my trip to the Trick Tower. But we rarely talk. The people she's with—they're in a remote, secret place. They don't have the Internet or even phones. They go twice a month to the closest cities to post letters and get supplies."

She stayed silent. "Is this what you wanted?"

"It's what she wanted. After all these years, they're the only people who truly understand her and her power. They're in the best place to teach her how to use it. I was overprotecting her—somehow, it feels like I was suffocating her," he said in a low voice, feeling his shoulders sink a bit. He had never considered saying it out loud, but Hana made him do and say things he had never considered. "But there are days when I wish she were here with me. So I could be sure she's okay, and I could watch her grow."

"How long has she been there?"

"Five years already. She's already sixteen. The last time I saw her was a year ago. We see each other twice per year—and when I don't have any mission, I try to stay up to a month with her. But I can't stay too long because I know I could be tracked. The last thing I want is expose her whereabouts."

Slowly, she laced her fingers with his. "At some point, she'll be old enough and strong enough to leave that place. No matter the security it provides, it must be hard for her to be away from you. She can't live sheltered from the world forever."

"I know. It feels like she went from my family's cage to the overprotection of that place, and I wondered if we took the right decision. But I don't want her to stay there forever. There is so much from the world she needs to see, so much she'd love to see. I just imagined her wandering around in the Sugar Fair, I know she'd love it."

She squeezed his hand. "It was her decision too, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. But I let her. And I didn't stay with her. She didn't want me to. I keep thinking she felt like a burden, that she thought I was better off without her. Perhaps I failed somewhere, if I made her feel that way."

"You respected her decision, is what you did. And it was best for her. If it makes her feel good to be surrounded by people who can help her deal with her power, then you should let her. I think she rarely got to decide for herself with your family so you did the right thing to let her take that decision. But… In the long run she'll need to see the world—and you. Eventually, what she learns with them won't suffice."

"I think so too… But I'm afraid to think of what could happen to her once she's out with me," he admitted. Each word weighted so much in his mouth, his mouth was full with secrets and dangers and fears he hadn't dared to utter.

"You've got time to get there. You need to discuss with her; she's the one who gets to decide. All you can do is try to reason with her because she might not have all the tools to forge her opinion. But if she wants to leave, you'll have to respect that. And you'll be happier, too. Don't you miss her?"

"I do," he murmured. "Terribly so."

"Well then, just know this situation won't last forever. I can't pretend I know what it's like, I'm sure her safety had to be compromised for you two to take this decision. But it's not always gonna be like this. With what you taught her and what they taught her, she'll have enough tools to defend herself."

"I hope so. I just hope they taught her useful stuff. All they do is hide; they make me wonder if Alluka could ever hope to live normally. I tell myself that if they could leave, then they would have."

"Not necessarily," she argued. "If all they know is hiding and confinement, then even if they have all the weapons, they won't want to move out. Especially if they've been there for a long time. They'll always believe the world is too dangerous for them, and that's what they'll teach their children."

He pondered what she had just said, picturing Baa's skeptical face whenever Omma mentioned going out. Whenever Alluka mentioned the outer world and its pleasures. "It's true. They're afraid."

"See? Alluka has seen a bit of the world. She won't succumb to this mindset. So even if she needs this time with them to control her power, she probably doesn't want to stay there forever—and she doesn't have to."

"I know she wants to leave, she's just not sure when."

"Only she gets to decide that. She'll know when the right moment comes."

"You're right." He gently stroked her hand with his thumb. "You give really good advice for a nerd."

She chuckled. "You know you can talk to me when you feel bad, right? About anything."

He let go of her hand to wrap his arm around her shoulders. "I know. Thanks for hearing me out."

"No need to thank me," she said as she scooted closer. "Thank you for telling me about Alluka."

He smiled. "I told her about you."

"Really?"

"Yeah. She said she entrusts me to you while she's not here."

She chortled. "Next time you talk to her, tell her you're in good hands."

"I am."

Then, she filled the silence with her usual ramblings as he fell silent, and he was thankful that she respected his silence.

Nevertheless, he felt incredibly warm. Just effortlessly laughing at the story of her first time going to the Summer Fair, as a small child, following her grandmother around and offering to pay with Monopoly money to play the games—while her grandmother paid behind the scenes.

And he felt lighter, too. To share his burden with her, to open up about this secret he hadn't told anyone but Gon. Even though what he had told was barely the tip of the iceberg, it was still relieving.

He glanced at her. He wasn't sure if it was her warmth or her kindness, her immense care or her patient ear or her soft contact, or just a mixture of all, but she made him feel… safe. Safe, free, valued. Loved.

He closed his eyes.

Perhaps the real reason he felt so happy was her, not just the Sugar Fair.

* * *

 **Thursday, May 21st**

 **0:15 A.M.**

Every time Hana left him to take a shower, he found himself staring at the Wall of Fame, the colossal collage of pictures scattered all over the wall facing her bathroom. No matter how many times he thought he had seen it all, he'd find a new picture he hadn't seen before, a new frame of her life he hadn't visited.

He finished stripping and folded his clothes on her bed. Then, he grabbed his sweatpants and his t-shirt, promptly pulled them on, and sat cross-legged on her bed. It was a good thing he always had clean pajamas at her place, for the times they impulsively decided he'd spend the night with her.

Like that night.

The sound of Hana dropping something in the shower and cursing pulled him out of his thoughts. "Everything okay?" he said over the sound of the water.

"Yeah! Just dropped my shampoo on my foot."

He shook his head. When he turned his head back toward the wall of Fame, his eyes fell on pictures he had never seen, on the far-right side of it. Perplexed, he moved closer.

He widened his eyes when he realized they were pictures of him. The photo of Pocket Killua he had given her, with his bored expression and his fluffy hair. The photo of him at the gala, with the tarot card on his forehead. The photo she had taken of him showing a sleepy smile for the camera on a pale morning.

He smiled fondly.

He had made it to the Wall of Fame, after all.

She chose to come out of the bathroom at this moment. "Every time I get out, I find you staring at my pictures."

"Because I find new details every time I look." He gently traced the outline of the photos they had taken at the photo booth. In each little square, they were making faces at the camera. "I didn't know I'd been promoted to the Wall of Fame."

"No shit," she joked. "You don't think we're close enough for me to stick your smug face on my wall?"

"Shut up." He finally turned around. She was rummaging through the contents of her vanity drawer.

He frowned at the fine burgundy wool draped around her frame, just above white lace shorts.

"Isn't that mine?" he asked, staring at the familiar V neck sweater.

She flashed a cheeky grin. "Not tonight." Then, she turned around, showing off her pretty curves enhanced by the folds of wool. "How do I look?"

 _Hot_ , was the first thing he thought. He wasn't sure if that thought was referring to her or to the heat in his head. Then, as he raked her from head to toe, a whole string of jumbled thoughts followed—'wow' 'beautiful' 'that idiot' 'please don't' 'please _do'_ 'is she wearing lace underneath?' 'come on Killua it's just a sweater' 'God no I'm not getting hard because of a _sweater'_ and other uncatholic requests piling at the bottom of his head.

For a reason. Because one thing was Hana after a shower—flush chest, rosy cheeks, short pajamas, hair tied in a bun revealing the perfect arch of her neck. And that damp sheen of steam coating her skin, both warm and fresh to the touch and frankly obsessing.

Another thing was Hana after a shower wearing _his_ sweater. With the burgundy wool draped over her strong figure, softly hugging her hips at the places he wanted to grip, and the wide V neck collar diving in her cleavage and highlighting her graceful neck.

(He could picture a carefully placed hickey next to the puppy paw…)

He cleared his throat.

"You okay, Killua?"

His eyes darted to hers, found her pulling an irresistible mischievous smile. That one smile she wore like a victor's medal whenever she knew he was hot and bothered. Because it was her plan. All. Along. " _You_."

"What? You don't like my surprise?"

"I do! That's the risky part."

"Amazing. That's what I wanted." She adjusted the sweater on her shoulder. "The only thing is, I didn't think it would fit _that_ well. I kind of expected it to do the cute big-sweater thing you know? When the girl wears her boyfriend's sweater and it's way too big for her. It doesn't do that on me," she said with a pout. "I'm not petite enough I guess?"

He sidled up to her as he spoke. "First thing, no, you're not petite. You're practically as tall as I am when you wear heels, And I'm over six feet tall. Second thing, doesn't matter. Tall girls are cute as fuck. Third thing," he leaned in, settling his gaze into hers, flashing his trademark smirk as he trapped her between him and the wall. "The _boyfriend's_ sweater?"

God, her little cheeky giggle—and the adorable face she made afterwards, big eyes twinkling at him. "What?"

"Are you asking me out, Hana?"

"It would be a bit lame if I asked you out like that," she mused.

He stood straighter, giving her space. "Precisely. Which is why it's _definitely_ something you'd do."

"Come on, I'm more romantic than that."

"I'm pretty sure you could ask someone out with a meme."

"You're the meme-obsessed one between us, moron."

"That makes two morons of us, moron."

"This could go on forever," she sighed. "Come on, let's sit in the balcony."

"Got anything to eat?" he asked as he followed her out.

She slid open the doors to the balcony, breathing in the night air. "You're not serious, right?"

"I'm very serious."

She groaned—but still fetched her jar of homemade cookies, for him. "Here you go, Mister."

He flopped on the comfy couch with a sigh, crossing his legs. He fished in the jar for a mellow cookie and gobbled it whole.

She sat next to him. "How do you do it, seriously."

"Skills." He pointed at the sky. "Pop quiz: how many stars in the universe, Hana?"

"One: me," she finished with a little laugh. "Still as smug as you were three years ago."

"Gotta keep the legacy living."

"The Soledad is bright today," she noted. "The sky is surprisingly clear."

"We're farther from the city center. There's not that much street light here; hence the clarity." He glimpsed at her. She was staring at her hands, the way she did when she wanted to talk about something. "Hana?"

She rose shy eyes toward him. "Can I talk to you about something… strange? Sorry if it's sudden."

"Sure? Do tell?"

"It's about the Whisper."

He turned toward her, leaning on his side against the back of the couch. "I'm listening."

She took a deep breath.

* * *

"Two weeks ago, Allan told me he and Nightowl had found more about the Whisper. Did you hear about it?"

"I don't think so," he replied after a short instant. He was studying her but it wasn't unpleasant. She didn't feel observed; she felt cared for.

"He said that the Whisper has never killed children before. That he's never killed parents either. That all his victims were childless adults." She grimaced. "Except Feri.

"I also met Aleon Dove. He doesn't believe the lie the doctors told him; that he was sick and hallucinating. He knows someone 'did something' to him. He told me…" Another deep breath. "That the Whisper apologized before inflicting the curse to him. That he faintly saw him—or his eyes, at least." A rueful smile. "He has green eyes. Like mine." A scoff. "Talk about a coincidence."

As usual, he took her hand. An anchor to the real world while she dove deep to purge the poison. "You've got nothing to do with him. Keep going."

She bit her lip. "I've always pictured the Whisper as a shadow. An evil faceless monster with hands and a cloak and an amaryllis on his palm. Just thinking that he could have anything in common with me, that he could have emotions, principles, actual reasons, that he could be _human_ …" A breath shook through her body. "It drives me crazy. It's so unreasonable and I don't even know how to describe it properly, I just hate it. It's so much easier to tell myself he's evil, that he's… just a mindless killer, with no good reason, just a filthy monster."

"It's normal," he murmured. "It's easier to hate something when you think it's evil and deserves to be hated. It becomes harder when you realize there might just be a human with emotions behind it."

"Yeah. And I hate that. I hate that he could be human, that there could be reason, no matter what it is, to him killing all these people. That he could regret what he does even a single second. It makes me feel like Feri died for a reason, like in the end there's something logical to _justify_ his death." She frowned. "It's irrational."

"But it makes sense. Not everything has to be perfectly logical to be valid. Emotions are not logical—yet they're here for a reason. To make you cope, to send you a message." He shifted on the couch.

"What message are my emotions sending me, though? He made me go through hell. He made me feel a pain I can barely describe, both physically and emotionally. He's killed my _friend_. How can someone like that feel something like regret? It's enraging that he's out there killing people and there could be a reason. It, it infuriates me to think he could… think and _feel_ and have a motive. It makes it _possible_ for me to relate to him in a twisted way, because we share something I had assumed we didn't for all these years."

"Humanity," he guessed.

"Yeah. I can't accept he's anything but a thoughtless monster, a piece of shit who kills for no good reason like Baroque."

"When you cope, it's easier to picture your abuser as a monster. To imagine them unable of basic human decency, or compassion, or love, or anything positive really. That's what coping does. If you tell yourself the monster was even remotely human, it normalizes the pain you felt. Because they have something in common with you. Another human made you this way. It hurts. But you know what?"

"Tell me," she said, impatient to hear his reply.

"The Whisper is human. He has emotions. You can't change that. But if he's human, then he's vulnerable. He's small and attainable. He's not this fleeting, overpowered monster; he's just a human being, though with freakish powers, who can be taken down like any other human and who dies if you put a piece of metal in his heart." He squeezed her hand. "How about that?"

She considered his reply with care. "It's pleasing to hear," she admitted.

"Think of it this way then. He's not a monster, sure. He's human, sure. But that makes him just as fragile as you are—perhaps even more because he has a target on his back and if he does feel regret then the emotional backlash will be severe. Think of his compassion and his regret as vectors of pain to him—the same pain he put you through, he can feel it too. In the end, sure, he's not that different from us, but that also means he's not invincible. He's small and puny and he shits like any being. Picture him shitting or naked. Not so intimidating now, right?"

She chortled. "Definitely not."

"So here you go. Now he's back on the same ground as you, not some kind of pedestal from where he could crush you."

She stared at him with remnants of mirth in her eyes. "I never thought of it this way. The way I saw it, admitting that he was human, that there was an actual thought process behind what he did, made me feel like there was a purpose to my suffering. That it was supposed to happen and it wasn't unfair to me."

"That's not true, though. Some things are explainable but not excusable. Villains with tragic pasts should still be held accountable for the shit they do, even if they were tortured as kids. Think of Faem and Elias. Both suffered as children, both grew up as tortured souls, but one of them chose to grow into an asshole and the other stayed true to himself." He blinked. "Let me get this straight, the asshole is Elias."

Another laugh from her. "Stop acting like you dislike Elias. You wouldn't care if you did."

"I don't."

"Yes, you do. Except when he hugs me."

"Stop it." He cracked a reassuring smile. "Nothing justifies or normalizes the suffering you went through. Not the Whisper's humanity or his motives. It's still unfair, it still hurts, it still sucks. Your pain won't be erased by his apologies, no matter how sincere they are. You hear me?"

She nodded. "Thank you, Killua."

He shrugged. "No problem. Adorable Killua at your rescue."

"You're adorable alright. I could kiss you right now," she said.

"You say that a lot," he noted, putting a hand on her back and pushing her closer to him. "How about you do it, for once?"

 _What if that moment is now?_

Her relief shrunk as nervousness took hold of her. The leftovers of her bitter fest at lunch, of her disappointment at her inaptitude to let herself go. And the pressure she put on herself, to resist, always.

She ran her fingers through his hair, silent, and looked away.

How could she resist?

 _Why_ did she resist?

"Hana?"

At the sound of her name, she met his eyes again. "Yeah?"

"You okay?"

She remained quiet, her eyes stuck in his, her thoughts a confused mess in her head.

"Is it something I said? I'm sorry if I offended you," he added. The hint of distress in his voice alerted her, as if he had been used to walk on eggshells before. "You can tell me if I did."

"You didn't, I swear," she assured.

"Then what's wrong?"

All her previous insecurities rushed in and seized her. She felt tiredness numbing her and opening the way to the doubts and the questions. Could she tell him? Could she, really? "I don't know if I can tell you."

"You can tell me anything," he murmured, and when she met his kind eyes, she really thought she could.

"I've been wondering, is it okay if we grow this close?"

His eyebrows knitted in a subtle frown. "Why wouldn't it be okay?"

She opened her mouth. The words were all there, all these doubts she had kept tucked in a side of her head. They were about to spill and flood her. They were about to flow and she knew that once she started she wouldn't stop talking. So her mouth hung open, but she held to her worries lest she drowned him with them.

"Hana, talk to me." His voice was soft but firm, coaxing her to let go. "It's not good for you to keep the bad stuff in."

She took a deep breath. The confessions shivered in her body. She stared in his eyes, felt his hand on the small of her back, his warmth near her. And the words were out. "I feel like we shouldn't be so close. Because every time, I just… I want more of you. Always."

He widened his eyes. In shock or surprise, she didn't know. She just felt the shame pressing in her chest. "Is that a bad thing? To want me?"

"No, it's not. I love the way you make me feel. I love every shiver you make me feel. But… but I want more. I feel like I shouldn't want you that much. I won't be able to stop if I get a taste of you," she breathed, cringing at her own words. Was it really her speaking those words? They sounded wrong, like they belonged in a dark corner of her mind and should never be uttered.

Again, he didn't say a word for a torturous moment. Until he spoke, and his breath caressed her skin. "What if I don't want you to stop?"

Her breath caught. Sirens rang in her head. She was losing control of herself. "You can't say that," she whispered. "You can't say something like that to me."

"But why?"

"I feel so guilty. I feel like… I thought I had come to terms with how I felt for you, but in the end I haven't, and I feel so guilty. I feel like it's wrong to want you."

He cupped her face. She was ablaze, wherever he touched her. "Guilty? I don't understand. Why would you feel guilty?"

 _Because I can't get anything right._

 _Because I'm fucked up._

 _Because I can't lose you._

 _Because I don't want to ruin you._

She shuddered. She couldn't say that. She couldn't allow herself to pronounce any of those words.

"Hana," he insisted. His thumb was stroking her cheek, his eyes searching in hers.

And with every stroke, her walls melted. "I feel like it's unfair for you. I can't do that to you. I can feel you growing close to me, and… I feel like I'm the wrong person for you. Like I'm trapping you. I…" She inhaled. "I feel like I'm binding you to a walking and breathing mess. I'm terrible at so many things, I could collapse anytime or my goddamned bad luck would strike and... I don't want you to be collateral damage. I don't want to be the ball and chain that drags you down."

He let out a sad chuckle. "You? Dragging me down? You're the sugar in my life, Hana. I hate when you talk about yourself like you're a burden."

"But I'm so messed up," she fought, her voice breaking.

"No one is intact. Every single human being has a crack in their life, sometimes more, sometimes holes or abysses. You're not any less worthy than anyone else. Are you going to keep punishing yourself for being human?"

She didn't know what to reply. She wished she could believe him, but the gaping hole in herself echoed and echoed and it was so loud it drowned her reason. "I don't want you to trip over my cracks or fall in my abysses. I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to break you."

"Hana, I'm not fragile." He brought her close, his forehead brushing hers. Her heart was a furious thing in her chest, her body craving his like a parched land craving rain. "I can't be broken. You won't break me."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because you make me feel whole."

She closed her eyes, drinking his words, hoping to get a taste of them, to believe them. When she reopened her eyes, his gaze was peering in hers, the sensual blue flame boring in her soul, piercing through the fog. Her heartbeats became louder and louder, pulsing in her ears, in her temples, in her chest.

"You know," he started, his voice gentle and quiet. "There are people who've tried to break me. My father, my brother." His mouth hung open for a moment, and his eyelids twitched. "War. But I've never been broken. I've always resisted. I've been hurt and I have scars but I've never been broken." He smiled a little. "I'm a tough cookie." He paused, stroking her cheek with the back of his fingers. "But you, Hana, you make me feel like I'm standing in sunlight. All the time. With a chocorobot. A mountain of them. Right next to me."

She couldn't help a little laugh. She found herself cupping his cheek with a hand. "I want to make you feel good," she confessed. "I'm scared of doing it wrong."

"You already make me feel good," he murmured, his lips so close to hers she felt his words touch her skin.

A thrill of eagerness shook through her body. Washed the doubts away, if not for a moment.

Then, their noses brushed.

In that moment, she tried to come up with any reason not to kiss him, but there was none. Not even her raging doubts made any sense to her. All the uncertainties whispered in her mind, the 'you're no good to him' and the 'don't let him get hurt', all of them silenced with his patience and his understanding and his reassuring words, with the promise of his lips on hers. She forgot what she had wanted to say; perhaps something along the lines of 'we can't' or 'we shouldn't' or some equally dramatic, self-hating thought, but she was too focused on his eyes, _his lips_ , to care. He could quiet all her alarms.

So, she absorbed the way his skin felt under her fingertips, the sharpness of his cheekbone under her thumb, the acute line of his jaw against her pinkie. Every detail she didn't see from afar like the purity of his eyes and the subtle bump on his nose. They hung in this intense second together, breaths mixing and noses brushing and hearts racing in torturous anticipation of what they had both craved for so long. She would remember that moment for a long time, that short lapse of time so vividly memorable, that second out of space right before it happened, right before it all blurred in a vivid patchwork of emotions.

Her gaze dropped to his lips.

He tilted his head.

Their eyes closed.

"Are you sure you want this?" she breathed, one last barrier to drop.

"Yes," he replied. "Kiss me."

And she did.

She kissed him.

Without a second thought, without any restraint.

And when their lips touched, when they kissed on her balcony after all this time testing the ground and hesitating and playing this surreptitious game of seduction, the world spun out of focus.

There was only him.

His lips against hers. His hand in her hair, fingertips pressing against her scalp. His skin like silk under her feather-light touch. His hair curling on her fingers—and his sighs as she tugged as his roots. His uncanny white musk scent filling her head, driving her mad with want. His eyelashes tickling her.

Just him.

She wasn't sure how long the kiss lasted. It could be seconds or centuries for all she knew, but she had lost her grasp on time. It was only when they broke the kiss that she realized what had happened. She could barely form coherent thoughts through the hot haze in her head. Her cheeks were burning, her heartbeats so loud they deafened everything else.

"Did I break?" he murmured against her lips.

And she laughed. And laughed. And he pulled her close, again. And she closed her eyes, again.

And they kissed.

Again.

And again.

(And again.)

Somewhere through the kiss (kisses?), his tongue caressed her lips. She lost it then. She straddled him and tilted her head and her lips opened his and before she knew it, she had responded to his silent invitation. An hour sooner, they had been debating over the best pizza toppings and arguing about the importance of pineapples on pizzas. Just a few minutes ago, she had been holding back for a reason she barely remembered.

Now, her tongue was in his mouth and his hips between her thighs and they were making out like they were catching up on all the missed opportunities. (And yes, there were _a lot_ of missed opportunities.)

And it felt so _good_.

Her entire being hummed with pleasure. She could barely distinguish the emotions that fizzed and roamed and pulsed in her body, the excitement and the happiness laced with impatience, the overwhelming sensation of floating out of space. She felt it everywhere—her chest and her breasts and her lower stomach, all the way down to her fingertips. All her senses had been rewired to feel the moment and live through it—she heard the fabric of their clothes brushing in a hushed whisper and the silent pecks of their lips that met and parted, met and parted, the sounds of their small exhales in between the kisses, the silky glide of her hands on his skin. She might have moaned lightly against him as he caressed her back, greedy fingertips exploring her hot skin hungry for him, bringing her closer to his strong body that fit so well with hers.

And she never wanted it to end. Never. Not when she'd finally found the way to his lips.

(That was the moment when the phone was supposed to ring, or someone was supposed to knock at the door, or the building's fire alarm was supposed to be triggered. She had seen enough movies and watched enough series and read enough books to know something had to happen. With her luck, it was bound to happen.

But not this time. She had decided that nothing would interrupt them. Not the phone. Not the door. Not the fire alarm. And certainly not her goddamned bad luck.)

"I can't get enough of you," she murmured between two kisses, drowning her hands in his hair. The confession was so much lighter than her previous words, a mere truth passed to him. "Do you have any idea how many times I've wanted this? How many times I've pretended I could keep it all inside?"

"I didn't know," he said, his dilated pupils staring right through hers. "I can't read minds, Hana. If you don't tell me, I can't know."

"How do you tell someone you want to kiss them?" she asked, her hand stroking his hair, her body a shivering call for his. Staring at him almost with disbelief.

"Didn't I just do it?" he chuckled. "Hana, I want to kiss you. Like that."

She grinned and crashed her lips against his. "Wish granted," she breathed during the short moment their lips parted, then kissed him again, lingering for a delicious moment.

He laughed against her lips. She broke the kiss and stared at him. "What?"

"Is a grin your reaction to everything?" he asked.

And her grin got wider. "Only the good things." Another kiss. "And the things you make me feel… they're better than 'good'. They're better than standing in sunlight with a mountain of chocorobot."

He burst out laughing—her heart loved the sound. "I did say that," he mused.

"That's the moment I realized I was the real deal."

"How didn't you realize sooner, moron?" he murmured, sneaking a hand around her waist to bring her closer, his lips barely inches from hers.

A soft smile played on her lips. An hour ago, she could have written essays about that question, detailing every single record of self-hate she could come up with.

But now was not an hour ago.

"Honestly, I don't know."

* * *

 **A/N:** Yayyyyyyyyyy they finally did it! 23 chapters later woot! FINALLY I can show you the cute stuff lolol. Yeah I hope you caught the very daring hint I snuck in one of the scenes too.

Annnd yeah. I suppose after 23 chapters waiting, the least I could do was have them make out right after their first kiss. I mean, you and I were impatient, but imagine what it was like for THEM. Now that they've taken down this old barrier… oh boy they're gonna be unstoppable lol.

Anyway, I hope you liked it! I realllllly loved writing this, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

On a sliiiightly darker note, since this chapter is huge, I might update a _little_ later than usual. That is, if I realize I haven't written more new content. So pray for me, and I'll need all the encouragement I can get ;-;

 **Let me know what you thought about this chapter** too! Did you like the kiss? Any comments? And what was your favorite moment?

Also if you see any missing word/mistake please let me know! the website sometimes messes the documents and I'm not a native speaker so sometimes my grammarly gives me mistakes I don't understand D:

Next chapter is called **A flicker of hope** and there's cheeeeeseeeeee and kisses and it's pretty chill but, yeah, it gives answers lol. And more about Killua's backstory. (You didn't think I'd leave the boy alone now, did you?)

Until then, you'll find an excerpt below and a little quote of chapter 25 on my story's tumblr, poisonedamaryllis, under the tag "excerpts"! Feel free to contact me if you can't find.

I'll see you soon then ;)

* * *

" _What about you?" Gon asked. "Ho_ _w is it going with Hana?"_

" _What do you mean, 'how is it going?'"_

" _I mean, have you two become, uh, close friends?"_

" _Hmm." He smirked. "If by 'close friends' you mean hanging out, watching movies together, making out, and cooking together then yeah. We're close enough."_

 _The silence on the other side was hilarious. "... Wait. You made out with her? What? When?"_

" _Yesterday."_

"… _Okay. Well, now that's a twist. Killua, are those your friendship standards? Because I don't know if I'm ready to make out with you."_

" _Ugh. No,_ no _. Gon. That's like_ incest _."_


	25. A Flicker of Hope

**A/N:** Hi guys! How have you been?

I hope you like cheese because that's what you're having tonight. That and… answers. Or more questions, who knows ;) (hint: I do. I know. I know everything. Every misery that happens in this fic is my fault. I'm despicable.)

Anyway, I still haven't finished chapter 26, I'm sorry about that. I'm halfway there. I had a big report to send in this week and I had to deal with a bit of drama last week so I didn't have time or motivation to write (that's also why I haven't replied to some of your PMs, I promise I'm getting to it asap!). But on a brighter note, Hanallua are getting pretty daring in chapter 26, I think you guys will like it :D

Also! I commissioned the wonderful artist **masthya** to draw Hanallua and they gave me the result a few days ago! I put the link on my profile, and trust me, **it's so gorgeous I haven't stopped staring** at it! If you want, check it out! It's really worth it. It's just so accurate and lovely anddd Hana is wearing the floral dress she wore in both chapters 6 and 22! ANNND Killua is looking at her with such a soft gaze, I just melt at the thought. So yeah, check it out! Masthya is still taking commissions if you're interested.

Life wise, as I said before, the last days have been a bit wild lol. But I handled them quite well I think… I'm kinda proud of myself. I hope I have reasons to be.

But I'm on vacation now so I'll get to write more (and reply to your PMs, I promise!). Sometimes I struggle a bit because I really want to offer you quality so I don't want to rush, but I also want to keep updating regularly. I'll need all the support I can get.

Umm, fic rec wise, I don't think I'll ever stop recommending _**Among the water weeds**_ by **OooodlesOfNooodles**! If you haven't read it yet, please do yourself a favor and check out this gem! It's just… so _good_ , that 'good' can't even describe it. I adore this fic lol.

And as always, thank you all for reading, following, favorite-ing, and _especially_ reviewing! I'm forever thankful to all of you. And you, reviewers, you make this story live. So thank you.

Anyway, go on and read the chapter now! Have fun ;)

* * *

 **Replies to guest reviews:**

 **Irem** : Hii! Thank you so much for your review omg! It made me so happy and oh God what you said was so sweet ;w; I hope you'll like them as lovers! Ahh and I hope it's all going well for you, with exams and life in general! I know how tough it can be u.u Thank you again! I love you too!

* * *

Chapter 24: **A flicker of hope**

* * *

" _I won't be able to stop if I get a taste of you."_

Her voice, eyes full of doubt, searching for something to hold onto, somewhere to hide. The shame, the pressure crushing her chest.

" _You're the sugar in my life, Hana."_

His voice, eyes full of confusion, seeking her gaze to reassure her, to make her see what he saw, what she thought she could never see. Surprise, relief, softness. His grip on her waist, his palm on her back.

" _You make me feel whole."_

The words coat her in warmth, little sparks melting the walls, thawing the ice. She picks them up, she treasures them, she repeats them on and on in her mind until she believes it.

" _I can't get enough of you."_

She is the one to speak those words but there is no doubt anymore. Just heat and gentleness, the token of their intimacy. She feels his breath on her lips and his body against hers and she reaches for his face, for his cheeks that she cups like something precious. Because he is precious to her. Her friend, her soulmate, her lover.

" _Kiss me."_

She kisses him.

She kisses him for what feels like forever yet ends too fast. She kisses him dumb and senseless. She kisses his lips and his neck and that warm spot under his ear, right where his jaw breaks into a straight line.

She doesn't know what happens next. Just them kissing and kissing in her bed. Just breathless laughs and greedy touches and moving bodies under the sheets.

And then, his arms around her, her back to his chest. She falls asleep, lulled by the regular sound of his breath in her ear. She falls into a restful sleep, the kind filled with quiet dreams.

Dreams where he holds her against the world.

* * *

 **10:02 A.M.**

She shifted on the bed, her limbs tangled in the sheets, her eyes fighting the slits of sun filtered by the curtains. Little cameos of last night—lips and hands and gazes full of longing, full of want, and skin, his skin, her skin—floated in her mind. Sounds and voices and memories strung like pearls on a necklace. She remembered the things she had said and the things he had said and the hope warming her chest, warming the numbness and the doubts.

She moved on her side. The sheets were cold on his side of the bed, but the room smelt of pancakes and toasted bread and coffee and she knew he was still there, in the kitchen, preparing her favorite breakfast for her.

Slowly, taking her sweet time, she stretched in the bed, feeling each muscle warm up, becoming aware of each part of her body, of the sweet aftermath of their exploration. Her airy head. Her kiss-swollen lips. Her neck hot with a hickey. Her skin shivering with want, everywhere he had touched her—arms, neck, cheeks, back, thighs.

She sighed of satisfaction. She was still sleepy, tired, a little drowsy from the night.

Making out was tiring, mind you.

And _boy_ had they made out. A _lot_.

With a little giddy smile, she reached for the smudged spot on her neck, the little hickey he had left right next to her puppy-paw-shaped beauty spot.

 _His lips trailed from her jaw to her neck, languid kisses pressing on her skin. She closed her eyes, abandoning herself to him, his touch, his lips._

She closed her eyes then too, reminiscing the moment, the _delightful_ moment.

 _She felt him smile when he reached that spot near the puppy paw, lingering longer there. She knew he liked her beauty spots, and he had a certain thing for this tiny puppy-paw-shaped set of beauty spots in her neck. Occasionally, she'd find him glancing at it, his gaze lost in a fantasy that she could never decipher. One that he perhaps was living in that moment, with his lips brushing her neck._

 _Then, it was teeth and tongue, hard and smooth, hot and sensual. His mouth on her neck and his hand gliding up her thigh, grabbing it right below her backside. He stole a gasp and countless shivers at the touch, biting and sucking but never too hard, never too harsh. Just a little pain, a sharp prickle to make her skin remember, a little passion to make her burn slowly. And pleasure. So much pleasure. It pooled and throbbed and twisted in the depths of her chest, in her lower stomach, in the tip of her breasts pressed against his chest—he knew, surely, the things he did to her. He heard her messy breathing, her inaudible moans. He_ felt _her. Her body slightly arching into his. Her hand tugging at his roots, clasping his shirt._

" _Too rough?" he murmured in her neck._

 _It took her a few seconds to register what he was saying. "Keep going," she simply said, tugging harder._

 _He chuckled softly. And resumed doing his holy work. Until her skin did remember and her mind was aloft with sleepiness and heat. Only then, he lay one last, chaste kiss to dilute the sharpness, a little smug and suggestive smile on his lips._

 _And then, she gladly returned the favor, to mark his neck with her greedy lips and her greedier teeth._

 _Until his skin remembered._

She buried her head in the pillow, now fully awake, to hide her grin.

So they had kissed.

They had left hickeys in each other's necks.

They had made out till they both dropped of exhaustion.

All that, in such a little time. It was like being buried in sweets after being on the other side of the candy shop for two whole months. There was so much to feel.

And so much left to feel.

She flung her feet over the bed as she sat up, and she rubbed her eyes. She popped a tiny mint candy in her mouth, checked her face in the mirror, and tied her hair in a 'mushroom bun' as Killua liked to call it—a high, thick bun on top of her head.

A moment later, she was standing at the threshold of the kitchen, leaning against the door frame with a smile that matched his.

She said nothing. Neither did he.

Silently, she strolled toward him and sneaked her arms around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Hi," she said—and laid a soft kiss on his nape. He still smelt of bedsheets and sleep and pancakes and, undeath it all, the ever-present white musk.

He flipped the pancake over then turned around to meet her gaze, just as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Hi."

And they just stared at each other, wondering if they should kiss.

They decided that they should.

Once.

Twice.

Lingering, for a second.

(Okay, thrice, because when they parted, he leaned in for another kiss.)

"Do you often brush your teeth before breakfast, Hana?" he asked when she was sitting at the bar and he was finishing the pancakes.

"I just took a mint candy."

"Why?"

"Don't complain. I just saved your life."

"From?"

"Bad morning breath."

He chuckled. "You think my breath doesn't smell like shit on mornings?"

"It doesn't."

"Well, ask Gon."

She sipped on her black coffee, watching him work. She loved watching him prepare breakfasts for her, or just take care of her. "Slept well?"

He glanced at her while he opened the cupboard, a knowing smile on his lips. "Guess?"

All she could reply with was a cheeky grin.

He took the maple syrup from the cupboard, then found the jar of Nutella among the other sweet spreads and brought them both to the dining table. She hopped off her stool while he fetched the juice and she put the last pancake in the tower of pancakes on a plate, finally deciding to lend a hand. Then, she joined him and put the plate in the middle of the table, with her black coffee next to her plate and his hot chocolate near his.

"What a fest," she commented as she sat down and contemplated the mouth-watering breakfast. He always said she had grandma skills but he was just as bad.

"I figured we needed some energy after the… events, of yesterday."

Her eyes fell on the pink, slightly purple-ish smudges on his neck—there were two, one on his neck, near his jaw, and one at the base of his neck. She reached for the small hickeys, brushing them with her fingertips. "I really went at it."

"I'm not complaining," he said, taking her hand, and kissing the back of her fingers.

She blushed. "But like, don't you have a meeting today?"

"Yeah, why?"

More blushes. "I can help you cover them if you need. With, um, foundation. If it bothers you."

He arched an eyebrow, an amused glint in his eyes. "Why?"

"Because I think I didn't choose very… strategic places. I didn't even think twice yesterday," she fumbled. "Everybody's gonna see them. If that makes you uncomfortable…"

He chuckled. "I don't care. Unless it bothers you. Shows people I'm yours."

(The thought was exhilarating.) "It doesn't bother me. It's your body."

"I wear them like prizes," he explained, smoldering gaze boring into hers. "To remind me your lips were on my neck yesterday."

There, her grin was back. "To remind you there'll be more."

"Now that's something I like to hear."

"Tonight?" she asked, raising shy eyes toward him. "You wanna sleep here?"

"Why the shy eyes when you know the answer's gonna be 'yes'?"

"Because you have the right to say 'no'."

"I know. Hana, I've never felt _compelled_ to do anything with you. Everything I do, I do it because I want to."

She smiled fondly. "It's so easy, being with you."

"I'm such a wonder," he said, though his eyes looked away with well-masked shyness. It really didn't take much to please him.

"You are."

There, the ever-so-rare, legendary blush tinting his cheeks. Not out of embarrassment, but of happiness. She could count all the times it had happened on the fingers of one hand, and each time was precious to her. "Allan invited me to some HCDS party," he changed the topic, finishing a pancake. She had been so engrossed in the conversation she had forgotten to eat.

She picked two pancakes and drowned them in maple syrup—just like he did. "He told me about it. He did say he wanted to invite you." She didn't add she had been invited too, but he had surely guessed.

"Did he mention what it was about?"

"The President solving a complicated case. Something about the dismantlement of a weapon-trafficking business—one of them, at least. And also the engagement of one of his daughters."

"Sounds… cool…" Killua tried. "You're not coming, I suppose?"

"I don't think so. I don't belong in there anymore. Too many people will recognize me."

"I understand." And he probably did, but there was still this small disappointment in his eyes, for a split second. And that alone was enough to make her wonder the impossible—what if she did go to that party? "I think Faem will be there," he dropped.

"He's one of the benefactors. It'll be his perfect time to shine."

"How does the HCDS associate with one of the biggest Mafia heads?" he scoffed.

"Money," she mumbled. "That's all there is."

"Or perhaps he's close to the higher-ups," he theorized.

She finished her coffee. "That wouldn't surprise me." He was silent all of a sudden. "Killua? Something's wrong?"

He blinked. "I just realized… isn't your mom a hunter? An HCDS agent?"

"Yeah?"

"… So she'll be at the party?"

"I think so?"

"So I might meet her…"

She blinked. "Wait. Are you…?"

"Nervous? _Nah_." He got up and put his plate in the sink. "… What is she like?"

"People call her the Dragon, Steamroller, Destructor, and other pleasant things. If that gives you an idea."

"… Nice. She didn't look so intimidating in your pictures."

She rested her head on her hand, staring at him with a playful expression. "I can't wait to tell her."

"Tell her what?"

"That we made out senselessly on my bed."

"…"

She chortled. "Hey, relax. She's cool. She knows I've been crushing on you for weeks." Her cheeks felt hot to admit it out loud.

Just like a spell, he found all of his confidence and flashed the smuggest smirk ever—and underneath it all, a little glint of excitement. "For weeks? So when I said you were head over heels for me, I wasn't wrong?"

"Shut up, will you?"

He laughed, the sweetest sound to her ears, and bent down to lay a peck on her lips. "We're a good match."

"We are."

They started cleaning together. And as usual, she was the one to do the dishes when he cooked. Traditions; they had their little quirks.

Her mind wandered while she scrubbed the dishes, listening to him humming a song while sweeping the floor. It felt so natural to be with him like this, it didn't feel different at all. And yet it was. At once, nothing and everything was different, and she was both serene and curious about what could happen now, between them. Now that they had taken down this old barrier between them. It wasn't like they were strangers; they had spent so much together, had spent so many nights over, doing nothing but talking and sharing and listening to each other. They had their habits together—they did behave like an old married couple, as Elias had said.

But at the same time, there was so much left to discover. They were comfortable together but she couldn't help wondering what was planned for them. They weren't even officially in a relationship yet.

And she knew there was something he wasn't telling her. Not about Alluka, or his family, or anything. But something about the surreptitious twitch of his eyelids whenever she sounded mildly offended, the flicker in his eyes when she disagreed with something. It was barely noticeable, but she knew him enough to sense something was wrong. And she didn't want to force him to talk about it, he would tell her if she needed to know, but it was worrying. As if sometimes, during certain moments, he lost his confidence for a split second and braced himself for something she wasn't sure of. As if _he_ was worried.

"I'll be using your shower," he said. She flinched out of her thoughts. He frowned. "You okay?"

For the slight moment it took her to answer, she saw it. The flicker, the twitch of his eyelids. Ever since they had started flirting, seducing each other, she had been seeing them more and more. "Yeah!"

"You sure?"

"Absolutely certain."

He pressed his lips against her cheek. "Okay. See ya."

She giggled as he tickled her neck with more little pecks.

Then, he went to the bathroom while she did the dishes. She hoped he was reassured from whatever was troubling him.

She wanted to make him feel safe, as safe as he made her feel.

* * *

 **4:45 P.M.**

The day had gone by at an incredible speed. Meeting after meeting after task completed—with his mind always locked on the feel of her body against his, the texture of her lips in his neck.

And now that he was finally free, she wasn't.

So he had gone to the only place he could go, to free his mind.

The basketball court.

He took a deep breath, his open book placed on his chest at the page he had stopped reading. He was watching the sky, azure and cerulean and nuances of periwinkle peeking from behind the moving clouds. So many blues for a single sky, so many ways to see it.

But no matter what he saw, no matter the type or the color, the blue always faded to spring green and peach pink and sweet golden.

It always came down to her.

Always. Always her.

He closed his eyes. He still felt the silk of her lips pressed against his skin, the obsessing sparks sizzling wherever she kissed him. The surge of heat when they had kissed for the first time, the first of many that had followed.

And her scent. Her warmth. Her presence.

He breathed in deep. Filled his lungs.

He was falling for her dangerously fast. Without ever suspecting it. Just yesterday, he had held her and he had known that he was in love. He had probably been for a long time before that—here, as he thought of the previous weeks with hindsight, he pinpointed the moments when it had been so obvious. But the thought had only occurred to him that one morning at the airport. That was the moment it all made sense. The elation and the desire. The genuine admiration, the affection, the attraction. All of it had a meaning.

And he had been happy. He still was. To be in love. To be in love with someone like her, someone so bright and warm and soft. So full of light, though she didn't see it. He had been relieved, too. That the questions had answers, that he had admitted it to himself. And he would never give up those feelings, no matter how overwhelming they were.

But there was a problem. Because good things didn't come to Killua without a problem. They never did.

And the problem was that he was scared.

The thing with romance was that it rarely ended well. Perfect friendships were ruined by imperfect romances, and you would lose not only a lover but a friend as well.

And Killua did not want to lose Hana. Not as a friend, not as a lover.

But why would it not work out? you'd ask. They had a great dynamic, a solid friendship, their own old-married-couple quirks and habits. They were both understanding and opened up to each other more easily than they would to other people. Elias would say, 'you're both smitten with each other and you like each other so why worry?' Their budding romance had no reason to end in a disaster like his previous relationship had, right?

When he put it that way, Killua could almost believe that he had no reason to worry. But the demons were quick to catch up. To bring up the past mistakes and wave them in front of him. 'Did you forget about that? How can you believe it's that easy?' they would say. 'You love her so you think it can work out? You think _you_ can make it work out? You really believe _you_ can make her happy?' they would snicker over and over.

And it was pretty convincing. Truly. Especially when they rewound the arguments and the tears and the fights. All the times he had been told 'why won't you open up to me?!' and 'you have too much darkness for me to handle' and 'I feel like you don't even care'. All the times he had tried to push himself forward, to make an effort, _any_ effort, to try harder. All the clumsy attempts to mend the broken bones, to open his mouth and say something intimate, something about _him_ , to fill the cracks and warm the cold and just, just open up.

To no avail.

His lips were sealed. His eyes were dry. His heart was shut.

He had failed once. He had thought it could work out, that he had moved on, that he was whole again. But he had failed. He had hurt someone he loved. He had disappointed her and wasted her time.

All because he was a broken little thing in a shiny armor.

He swallowed, shuddering.

What if it happened the same way with Hana? What if he lost her too? He wouldn't be able to bear it. Not her. Not Hana. He desperately wanted to make it work with her.

But the question was, could he?

Could he trust this tiny hope, this shy little flicker of light struggling to outshine the demons? Could he listen to the timid voice in his ear that murmured he had a chance, one chance at last, that he had to seize it? He wanted to believe it. He really did. She gave him hope and strength and sun and he was pulled toward her like a sunflower to the sky. She gave him care and patience and, and safety, understanding, _love_. What if it really _was_ different between them? This sense of familiarity between them, the casualness of their interaction, the easy and soft moments. He felt like he had known her all his life yet at the same time he never wanted to stop getting to know her. She had said it herself, it was _easy_ between them.

What if it _was_ different?

He sighed, sitting up on the bench, closing his book. He was overthinking again. And all that overthinking was depressing. He rubbed his face.

The truth was, he was such a hypocrite. Telling her that she would not hurt him, that she would not disappoint him. Encouraging her to open up and share her emotions. Arguing that it was nasty to bottle up her feelings. Repeating over and over that her problems were no burden to him. And then kissing her.

Only to struggle with the same issues. With the burden he was afraid to share, afraid to smother her with.

He scoffed.

He was such a fucking hypocrite.

His phone started ringing just as he was looking for something to take his mind off this issue. Pickles, who had been under the bench the whole time, ran away at the sound.

It was a call from Gon.

"Gon?"

"Hey, Killua!" he said, as joyful as ever.

It was impossible not to smile when Gon greeted him like that. "Why hello, your majesty. I tried to call you two days ago. You didn't pick up."

"I was free the whole damn time, you found the only moment when I couldn't pick up to call me!"

He laughed. "I'm so offended. Just when I thought I was a priority to you."

"Well excuse you, but unless your majesty can bend plane rules, I'm afraid I couldn't do much."

"A plane? Not a blimp?"

"Yep. I was called for an emergency issue in Tanalea," Gon said, their previous jokes fading as they both focused. "A blimp was too slow."

"What happened? You're okay?"

"I'm fine. But the fauna here…"

"What's wrong?"

Gon took a deep breath. "A slaughter. Some poachers have been slaughtering sacred tusked tigers and dragon-lizards, in the High Forest near Nea. The populations protecting them called for beast hunters; my partner and I were the first to answer."

"Why would they do that? Sell them?" He frowned.

Gon sounded weary when he answered. "We think so. They're very expensive on the black market. The tusks of two tigers could buy you a luxurious car."

"Or weapons."

"You're quick to pick up," Gon noted.

"Who will use those weapons? The rebels?"

Gon exhaled. "I think so. A rebellion is brewing. It's only a matter of time before it ignites."

Killua swallowed, his mouth heavy. His eyelids twitched and his jaw was set. "And you were called to protect the animals," he deduced.

"That's right. We're pretty busy; they're getting very creative."

"Awesome," Killua mumbled. "Stay safe, though."

"Yeah, don't worry about me. You should worry about those poachers because I'm gonna kick their ass _so hard_ they'll sink to hell where they belong."

Killua chuckled. "They deserve it."

"What about you?" Gon asked. "How is it going with Hana?"

"What do you mean, 'how is it going?'"

"I mean, have you two become, uh, close friends?"

"Hmm." He smirked. "If by 'close friends' you mean hanging out, watching movies together, making out, and cooking together then yeah. We're close enough."

The silence on the other side was hilarious. "... Wait. You _made out_ with her? What? When?"

"Yesterday."

"… Okay. Well, now that's a twist. Killua, are those your friendship standards? Because I don't know if I'm ready to make out with you."

"Ugh. No, _no_. Gon. That's like _incest_."

Gon laughed wholeheartedly. "For real though, I'm happy for you. Are you going out or not yet?"

"Wow, slow down there. I'm still getting used to kissing her. One thing at a time."

"So you do intend on going out with her," Gon inferred.

Killua pondered the question. And he thought, yes, he did. He was sure of that. But when? "I do. I want to make things move forward between us. I… I'm clumsy at it, but I want to make it work. I just need some time. I'm…" Scared? Anxious?

"Worried," Gon finished. "Afraid that it will be like before. Right?"

"Yeah."

"You're scared it will repeat your last relationship."

"… I am…"

Gon remained silent, the way he was when he thought of how to word something that seemed obvious to him. Clarity through the fog. "As you said, you need time. I'm not really worried; from what you told me, she's a sweetheart and you two actually _talk_. And you're compatible That's all you need, really."

"I'm aware. But…" He exhaled soundly. "I can't help worrying. What if I ruin it all? I don't want to lose her," he admitted, and it was as though he relieved himself from a big weight, to say it to his best friend.

"You won't. I can feel it." He sniffed. "I can smell it."

Killua laughed. "You're such a moron."

"At your service." Gon moved a glass on a wooden surface. "Killua, you're not defined by what happened between you and Xoelle. Even less by the things she-who-must-not-be-named did to you before her."

Killua found himself chuckling. "She's not Voldemort, Gon."

"Yeah. She's not. Voldemort was honest about being a bastard, at least." He pushed a chair, the grating sound exaggerated by the phone, and sat down with a huff. "Xoelle is not Hana. I know her and I cherish her, but she's… she wasn't compatible with you. And you were not ready to be with Xoelle after what Voldemorte did to you. But now, I can feel you're different. You _have_ moved on, Killua."

Killua let Gon's words soothe him, even though all he could think was that perhaps Gon believed too much in him. He thought of what Hana had said the day before, when he had tried to tell her she was getting better. 'You believe so much in me.' Now, he understood what she meant. "I hope so. There is so much I want to offer, to share with her." Moments and laughs and secrets. Intimacy. Trust. He wanted to give it all to her.

"I know you'll be ready. And I know she'll wait for you to be ready. But… You'll have to tell her, eventually, Killua."

Pickles came back and slid under the bench. "I will. I don't know when, perhaps if she tries to talk about it, but I'll tell her." His chest constricted at the thought. Having to spill his secrets, to disappoint her so early. Could he do it, really? He told himself it was no different from their friendship, but the stakes weren't the same.

There was always the threat of losing her.

"Hmm." Gon didn't say more, but by the sound of his exhale, Killua knew he had something in mind. The 'something' probably being Killua and his never-ending doubts.

"Gon, don't worry about me. Will you be reachable during your stay at Tanalea?" he distracted.

"I should be. I'll stay here for a few weeks to secure the land and teach the local populations how to protect the fauna. A little sensitization and perhaps some techniques. We'll see."

"And after that?"

"I'm not sure yet. My team is finishing the job at the Great East so I'll be free when I'm done with Tanalea. We'll see what I could do then."

 _Come here_ , Killua thought, but he didn't say it. As much as he wanted to see Gon, he didn't want to disrupt his work. "Then I can contact you for the upcoming weeks," he affirmed, though it was more of a question.

"Yep! I'm reachable the whole stay." He snickered. "I'll be available for romantic counselling, anytime."

Killua groaned. "Shut up, Gogoon."

"Not that nickname. Please." A few voices erupted from Gon's side, talking to him in Tanalean. Killua picked up a few words from the little Tanalean he knew—something to do with a chief who wanted to speak to Gon. "Sorry Killua, I have to go," Gon said when he was done speaking to the people in perfect Tanalean. "I'll call you back later, okay? Or you. And text me. Okay?"

"Yeah, we'll do that. Be careful. Don't get your ass bitten by some tusked tiger. Might sting a little bit."

Gon chuckled. "It just might. Bye, Killua."

He left after that, and Killua was now alone again.

Or well, not exactly. Pickles had decided his legs were her new bed, and she was resting against his thighs—giving him no choice of movement. Animals rarely liked him, but Pickles was obsessed with him—especially that day. Perhaps because he smelt like Hana.

He thought of Gon's calm voice telling him that he had moved on, that he had time, that he was different, stronger, better. That he had to trust himself and trust his feelings. That this flicker of hope wasn't a lure. That it was real, he had a chance, he had to seize it.

And he wanted to believe Gon. His encouragements, his supportive words. Just him, really.

He sighed. How he wished Gon could be here with him, patting his back and making him laugh his doubts away.

Now more than ever, he realized how must he missed him.

* * *

 **6:28 P.M.**

She quietly pushed the portal to the court, careful not to make it grate as she closed it behind her. Scanning the court, she saw Killua lying on a bench, an open book on his face. He had crossed his arms beneath his head. Pickles was asleep in her favorite bush.

After putting a bowl of food for Pickles, she tiptoed her way to him and, ever so slowly, leaned a knee on the bench to bend over him. She slowly took the book from his face, and placed the bookmark as she closed it.

Then, she looked at his face. His eyelids so light on his eyes, eyelashes curving around them. His mouth slightly open. His hair like feathers on his forehead.

Even in sleep he looked beautiful.

With a mischievous smile, she reached for his cheek, meaning to poke him. But he deftly grabbed her wrist before she could touch him, making her flinch in surprise.

He opened one eye and smiled in victory. "You thought I was asleep, right?"

"You weren't?"

"I was—until you open that portal."

"Aw." She tried to wriggle but he held her firmly.

The tip of her hair was touching his nose, so he scrunched it and turned his face. "Get your hair away from my face," he groaned, but she straddled him and bent a bit further, taking a strand of hair with her free hand and tickling his nose with it. "Goddammit Hana, stop— _ugh_ just stop!"

But she didn't stop. She kept going, like the annoying ass she was, snickering until he grabbed her other arm and sat up with a groan.

"Hi," she pretended to greet him.

"You're straddling me."

"I know. It's on purpose."

He shifted under her. "Well, I'm not gonna complain."

She took the book he was reading, curious. It was the _Metamorphosis_ , by Kafka. "Is it good?"

He looked at the cover. "No idea."

"What do you mean? You don't read it?"

"I do."

"You like it?"

"No."

She giggled. "Then why do you read it?" she pressed.

He shrugged. "Helps me sleep."

"I see." She skimmed through the page and stopped right when the main character was struggling to move on the bed. "What happened to him?"

"He woke up one day and turned into a giant cockroach."

She scrunched her nose. "Interesting." She closed the book. "Would you still like me if I woke up one day in the body of a cockroach?"

He stared at her with a blank face. "Hana, I just woke up."

"Would you?"

"No."

She pouted. "You're so mean to me."

His hand lodged in the small of her back, pulling her closer. "I'm a despicable human being."

"Yes," she agreed, pressing her chest against his, her cheek on his shoulder. " _My_ despicable human being."

"Such a romantic confession," he mused while he stroked her back, his hand moving in slow circles. He pressed his lips to her temple, causing her to sigh with relief. She felt blissful.

"I think I saw something about Kafka in the notes Tom gave me," she said, thoughtful. Her voice was so light, lulled by his tender gestures.

"Right, he's a literary guy. He likes it?"

"Tom doesn't like a lot of things," she admitted. "Except June."

She felt his smile in her hair as he kissed her. "Would be quite a problem if he even disliked his boyfriend."

"That's true." She snuck her arms on his sides and crossed them on his back, hugging him tighter. She left a trail of light kisses from his neck to his jaw, lingering on the warm spot under his ear. He melted under her lips.

"You didn't come to play basketball," he noted when he realized she didn't have her ball with her.

"No. I came to find you. I knew you'd be here when I come back."

He ran his fingers through her hair. "You make me feel very sappy and cheesy. It's unsettling. Stop it."

"I like sappy-and-cheesy Killua. I like all Killuas."

"That's not gonna help with the cheesiness."

They stayed that way for a moment. Together in a warm embrace. Exchanging butterfly kisses. Murmuring sweet things and innocent jokes and softly laughing at them. Soothed by the late afternoon calm, the time when the sun was dipping low as the day ended. No rush, no pressure. Nothing but rest after a long day.

They only started moving when the sky turned purple and the birds huddled in their trees for the night, dotting the sky as they traveled through the city to their nest. Elias was supposed to join them. The day may be ending, but their real work was only beginning.

So they stood up, picked their stuff—his book and her bowl—, and she petted Pickles one last time before they went to her apartment.

The whole time, they thought of the night they'd spend together.

It drove them forward.

* * *

 **7:24 P.M.**

A lot of things had changed since the last time Elias had seen Killua and Hana. Which was, just yesterday.

For instance, 353,000 babies had been born and 150,000 people had died. Some people had gotten married, some others had filed for divorce. Some had adopted puppies and kitties and bunnies. Some others had opted for goldfish—they were low maintenance. Around a hundred species had become extinct, but a scientist was working on one of the thousands of new species discovered each year. Eventually, he would break through

Some people had met. Some had fallen in love. Some had kissed and made love and confessed. No matter the order in which that happened.

But most importantly, since yesterday, _one_ thing, in particular, had changed.

Hana and Killua had _finally_ become a thing.

They thought Elias hadn't seen them, but he had glimpsed a quick kiss while they were away in the kitchen fetching something to eat while he waited in the working room—no, he wasn't following them, but he had forgotten to tell them he was allergic to peanuts and that was what they wanted to to eat, and he cared enough about his life to prefer not dying because of a peanut. It was chaste and sweet but it was there. Besides, Elias figured they had all time to do not-so-chaste stuff when there was nobody inconveniencing them (him, for that matter). The hickeys on their necks were enough proof of that.

And _boy_ that was a relief. Elias had never thought he'd feel that happy to see two people dating—without one of them being him. Perhaps it was because he liked them both. Yeah, friends, right? Friends were supposed to be happy when good things happened to their friends. So yeah, that was probably half the reason—the other half being that he was sure he had triggered something when he had forced them to look their blatant attraction in the eye. Elias the light-bringer. The one who shed light on the obvious for the ridiculous lovebirds too shy to notice they were both pining for each other.

He was such a saint.

It was only a matter of time till they started dating. Not immediately, because Elias figured they were both the type to let things cool down before they rushed into a decision. But eventually…

He shook his head. He cared _way_ too much about these two.

"We're back," Hana chimed as she entered the room with a tray of snacks. "With no peanuts. But we brought nougat, almonds, chips, and salty cookies. Should be fine right? The pizzas are on their way."

"Perfect," Elias said, making some room on the table for the tray. Hana decidedly didn't do things by half.

Killua sat facing him, with Hana on the end of the table so they were all around the tray—the table was small enough. "So, share what you got. Did you manage to find the date of the Memory Market?"

Elias picked a chip from the bowl. "I still need to confirm it, but it's in a month. It should be around the end of June. I still need to get the exact date though. I talked to a guy who said the real date is only available within a week of the actual event—to ensure the event isn't crashed by authorities. Or by thieves," he finished.

"So we've got time till the Memory Market happens then," Hana said. "If it's around the end of June, we should be ready starting from the middle of the month. And find out what to do in the meantime. But the problem is, if the info that the Market is held at the end of June is a lure, we'll be too late." There, the worst-case scenario. "Are your sources reliable?"

"Should be," Elias said. "One of them uses those memories in his drugs. Makes them more effective to drug addicts. He'd better have his merchandise. He's always aware of all the events held down there, anyway."

"And the other?" Killua asked.

"A rival of his. I always double check what either one of them tells me with the other. Their interests strongly converge so when they give me similar info, I tend to think it's relevant. They're both expecting the Market too."

Killua nodded. "Should do it. As Hana says, though, it's better if we regularly check for the exact date. And the place, since it will be revealed pretty late, right?"

"Three days before the exact date," Elias informed. "Three days to let you book your tickets or find your ways to get there."

Killua flashed a wry smile. "They're very prudent."

"They've always been," Hana intervened. "I don't know much about the Underground but I do know they're very cautious about everything they do. Even more since the Southern Peace auction six years ago. The one crashed by the Phantom Troup. It's in their interest, for their economy, to be careful."

Killua's face was grim for a moment—a shadow, no more. "Makes sense. In the meantime, we can focus on getting info. About Faem, Charybdis, Scylla."

Elias flinched then, as he remembered what he had wanted to show them. "Speaking of Charybdis," he started, fishing in his pockets for a piece of Bristol card. "I got this, this morning." He put the card on the table.

 _Elias,_

 _E. F. knows you're working with Killua. He wants to reach for you, turn you into a spy._

 _He knows there is a third person with you, but he still doesn't know who. It won't take him long to figure it out._

 _Be careful. He has great sources._

 _Your friends,_

 _Charybdis and Scylla._

He watched as Hana passed the card to Killua, as Killua skimmed through the contents of the message. His blue eyes were shimmering with intelligence.

"They signed together," Killua first announced, placing the card in the middle. "Which means they know we know about Scylla."

"So they know I went there and stole the document," Hana deduced. "They know the 'third person' is me."

"They know everything," Killua muttered. "And they want us to know that they do. Nothing they do is innocuous."

Elias pursed his lips. "Can we trust them? With Hana's identity?"

"That's what we should try to figure," Killua answered. "We've got roughly a month till the Market. Given that we'll monitor the date and location, that gives us some leeway to find out about our… odd allies."

With disdain, Elias reached for the card and read it again.

 _He wants to reach for you, turn you into a spy._

The words pissed him off. No matter his lightness, his tendency to not bother with what people thought of him. Because they were true. Faem did think he could simply make Elias betray Hana and Killua. He did think that, with a jewel or some money, he could get him to do anything.

The worst was that if it had been about betraying anyone else, Elias might have considered the offer, as low as that sounded. He used to not care at all, whoever he had to betray, to get what he wanted. It had been a long time since he had last made friends. Real friends, who cared about him, his wellbeing, his mental state.

And it was scary. Because he cared in return. And he knew that given the time, he'd care enough to make sacrifices.

Just when he had tried so hard to not get close to people.

"Does it bother you?" Hana chimed in, looking at him with concern. "That Faem wants to make a spy out of you?"

 _Boy, she's so perceptive_ , he thought. It was almost frustrating, how she could guess so well what bothered him. It was like she had an emotional radar. "Nah, I'm good." _Not convincing_.

"Hey, we trust you," Killua added. "As stupid as that sounds because you're an idiot."

Elias smirked. "You're crazy about me, aren't you." His smile died. "I hate that he thinks I'd betray my friends. His 'sources' must have told him I somehow… got close to you."

Killua smiled—Holy Mother of God, the beauty. "Friends?"

Elias looked away. "I can't believe I just said that."

She chuckled. Her laugh was pretty, like little bells. "We _are_ friends, Elias. Even if most of the time you make me feel like the mom of a stubborn kid."

"Besides," Killua started in a more serious voice. "It could be your strength. That Faem doesn't know you. Not the real you. The less he knows, the better you are."

"I know. And like, it's not a surprise that he'd think that of me. I have a reputation."

"The guy who doesn't give a shit," Hana mused.

"Yeah, that guy suddenly gives a shit about two people," Elias mumbled.

Killua nodded toward him. "Tell yourself those people give a shit about you in return."

He feigned to be shocked. "Wow. Did you just say that? Something nice? For _me_?"

"That won't happen a lot so remember it," Killua joked.

Hana's phone started ringing on the table, interrupting the light-hearted moment. When she saw who was calling, she stood up suddenly with her phone in hand.

"It's Kai," she said, to answer Killua's questioning look. He surreptitiously tensed up at the name.

"Kai?"

She glanced at Elias before going out of the room. "A friend."

Okay. Her ex was calling.

Talk about a timing.

* * *

"Kai?"

"Hana, hey."

She closed the door behind her, ambling in the corridor while she spoke. "How are you?" she asked, though what she really wanted to ask was, 'why are you calling?' But she knew why he was calling. Hence her impatience.

"I'm good. I'm calling you because I found something. Is now… a good time?"

She focused on his low voice, obstructing all the noises around her. Elias laughing in the workroom. The clock. The water in the pipes. She ignored them all, focused solely on Kai and the revelations he would make. "It's a perfect time. Do tell."

He exhaled—of relief or weariness, she didn't know. He had always been enigmatic. Perhaps too much for her doubtful nature. "You were right, Hana. About the amaryllis. Perhaps even about the Whisper."

Her chest shook with a heavy exhale. "What do you mean?"

"I still need to gather more information, but there is a flower that causes the symptoms of the Whisper's curse. And I've caught some crumbs here and there about a clan with amaryllises tattooed on their palms. All I know so far is that they're not liked, and very few are still alive. I can't give you all the details by phone though. I still have to confirm it." He exhaled. "But you were right. Your intuition was right."

She barely heard herself breathe out. "You're amazing," she voiced. "You said you couldn't give everything by phone. Are you gonna come to Megamshill?"

He didn't reply right away. She recognized his hesitations there. "It'd be safer. If you accept to see me, of course. I don't want to bother."

"You won't. I'm already making you do extra work, and I'm really thankful, Kai. Thank you."

"No need to," he said under his breath. "I'll be in Megamshill in a few weeks. Two, perhaps three. I want to gather as much evidence as I can before that. So far, I've got pictures and an artifact you might recognize. But I heard there was a book, too. If I can get you a copy, I will." His voice then sank to a whisper. "People are reluctant to talk about it, Hana. I'm worried this could get you in trouble."

He was so much more talkative when it came to his work. And though she hated to admit it, his passion made him endearing, and she found herself enthralled by his words. "Don't worry about me. Worry about yourself instead. You're sure you're safe?"

He chuckled lightly—everything Kai did was with measure, lightness, caution. "I'm used to it. I'm always looking where I shouldn't, don't worry."

"Are you certain you're not getting in trouble?"

"Yeah. More like the contrary. I'm having fun."

She couldn't help a smile. "I'm glad then. Quench your thirst of knowledge, young man."

Unlike their first call, which had been awkward and had left him baffled every time she spoke, he seemed more at ease this time—and so was she. He even let himself chuckle at her little attempt at a joke. "You sound better," he noted. "Lighter."

Her cheeks warmed up as she grinned. "I'm just into good hands," she admitted, thinking of the serene blue of Killua's eyes.

"I'm happy for you."

She grinned. "Thanks," she honestly answered. Kai was making so many attempts to redeem himself, his words radiated sincerity and good will. Truly, she wasn't sure she had met someone so selflessly kind before, to the point of self-erasure.

"I have to go," he announced, clearing his throat. "I'll update you on what I find, on when I come, and so on."

"Thank you, Kai," she said, hoping her gratitude could come across the phone. "Really, you're saving me."

"It's nothing."

They bid each other goodbye then.

And she was left with the sinking realization that she knew something about the Whisper, something nobody knew. The source of his power. His dark roots so deeply intertwined with a hated clan. His identity entangled with his muse, a poisonous flower. A poisonous amaryllis.

She took a deep breath, feeling the air fill her lungs in a rare moment of clarity.

For the first time since forever, she felt like her trauma wasn't unsurmountable. Even if it was only a drop in the ocean, it was still something. A name to give to her fears, to humanize this demon, like Killua had said.

Given the time, her discoveries could also help Allan for the Whisper's case. Eventually, she would share them with him. But in the meantime, she didn't want to get involved or spread the little she knew. They were only theories, nothing substantial yet that could make the case move forward—nothing about his weaknesses or his whereabouts or a way to counter him and neutralize the curse. Not _yet_ at least.

When the time would come, she would share. But for the time being, she had to focus on herself. It was the first step, but as small as it was, it was still a beginning. Killua had said it himself.

A start was all she needed.

* * *

 **Friday, May 22nd**

 **4:07 A.M.**

The trees held life.

Life of his kin, of the warriors who had died centuries ago, protecting their families. Men and women and more, warriors of all genders, all with a single common goal: push away the enemy. Strike. Save those who didn't fight, the tribespeople waiting in the village for the dreaded verdict of the battle.

For they knew that there were only two outcomes: life, or death. Either the warriors won and their village was safe, or they died and all hell would break loose.

He ran a hand on the trunk of a tree, searching for a pulse of aura, of life. Not its own life, but the life of a warrior dying in battle who, in his last selfless move, had transferred his life to the tree, giving future warriors a second chance, a second life when they were fighting the enemy.

He found none.

Centuries later, things had changed.

His kin had found the curse. The amaryllis. The power to fight without sacrificing the young warriors. And the graves of all the warriors had remained in the trees, untouched, still bustling with life force.

The grass hushed as he walked through the forest.

That used to be the tale his mother told him the most when he was a young child hating the amaryllis on his hand. That some trees had a second chance for him. That they were rare, scattered all around the continent, all around the places where their people had fled. Because fleeing was all they could do, the feared life traders playing with God's will, the witches and the wizards crossing the boundaries of life, the rules of religions. Fleeing was all they knew, all they could hold onto to survive, to have a chance for their children to live.

He stopped walking. There, in the middle of the Riverstorm forest, he had found it. He approached the tree with caution. Slowly, he reached for the trunk, ran his hand on the wooden surface. And he focused.

A pulse.

There was a pulse.

An unnatural, very human pulse of aura that his nen picked up.

His face lit up. He had a chance here, a chance to stop killing people. At least for a little while. He had life, here. Within this tiny group of trees that he had searched for during months, he could hold a few weeks, perhaps even a few months if he found more.

He sighed, letting his shoulders relax.

After all this time, he had finally found what he was looking for. Not just a tree, not just a life.

But a tiny flicker of hope.

* * *

 **A/N:** Yay, more Whisper angst. I'm so curious to know what you think about the Whisper and his past tbh. I've been dropping hints for a while hehe.

Annnd yeah. I had warned you, there was cheese. Friendship cheese and romance cheese and a little bit of hot cheese too. What did you think about all that? Did you like the chapter? What was your favorite moment?

Also, I wonder what you think about Killua's backstory now. Some of his feelings were based on personal experiences. You'll see more of that later, when he talks about it.

Anyway, please review! I can't wait to hear your thoughts about this chapter.

Next chapter, chapter 25, is called **A flower through the cracks** and idk, I think you'll both hate and love me. For many reasons. Read the excerpt below for a little preview!

Until then, I'll see you soon! Pray that I finish chapter 26 soon so that I don't have to delay updates. I've been known to be fueled by reviews if that helps :D

Bye and have a nice weekend!

* * *

 _A little bell sound coming from her bag made her open her eyes. He shifted, reaching for her bag to give it to her. "Your phone hates me," he stated as she took it from her bag._

 _She stared at the message she had just received: 'Where's your boyfriend?'_

 _She grinned._

" _What is it? Why are you grinning?"_

 _She looked up from her mother's text. "Killua, are you ready to meet my mom?"_

 _His mouth fell open. "Shit. I had completely forgotten." He fumbled a bit, running a hand through his hair. "Does she know we're… a thing?"_

" _You mean, does she know we made out like there was no tomorrow? On multiple occasions? Yeah. She does. I finally told her."_

 _He crashed his head on her chest as though he were hiding. "_ Noooo _. Now all I'll think about while talking to her is 'I made out with your daughter and grinded with her' and it's gonna be embarrassing as hell."_

 _She giggled. "Think instead of the things you'll do to me tonight," she said in his ear. "When I slip your hands under my shirt."_


	26. A Flower through the Cracks

**A/N** : Hi guys! How are you? :D

Things have been quite wild lately. In both a good way and a so-so way. I wish I could elaborate but I'm still kinda careful lol.

Story wise, **chapter 26 and 27 are both done**! Yay! I'm really happy about that. And well, chapter 28 is halfway there. I'm gonna keep working. I've also written a really important scene of chapter 30. (yeah, not 29. Nah. 30.)

Art wise, if you remember well, last time, I had commissioned **masthya** to draw hanallua. Well… I did it again. Check my profile page for a hanallua kiss drawn by my favorite artist masthya. It's SO WORTH IT. Their art is… love. Yeah. You'll also find another commission of Hana by **Hebes-drawings** , that's just gorgeous. Also, the lovely Hei17 made such a cute fanart of Hana! Annnnd I drew Killua! You can check it out :D On a side note **, I regularly update my profile page,** if you're interested in regular updates about my writing process and new art made for the story.

Life wise, as I said things are wild. One thing I can say though, is that I make good tiramisus!

Fic rec wise, check out **A Thin Red Line** by **TearsOfNightfall – Rowan Rook**! It's a great fic! With awesome thrilling and emotional scenes :')

As always, thank you so much for your support. All the times you read, follow, favorite, and especially review my fic. It's every author's joy when a review pops up, no matter how small it is.

Anyway, dig in now! I hope you'll like the chapter!

* * *

 **Replies to guest reviews** :

 **Guest** : Omg thank you so much for reviewing! I'm so happy you like my fic! I also followed your advice and capitalized every chapter's titles, I hope it looks better that way. And thank you so much for wanting to review the chapters omg! *A*

* * *

Chapter 25: **A Flower through the Cracks**

* * *

 **Wednesday, May 27th**

 **9:14 P.M.**

She carefully applied lipstick on her lips, eyes riveted on the rich color spread on her lips. A deep, matte red, to change from her usual light colors. The texture was comfortable, almost velvety, but it didn't smudge or stain. Perfect for eating.

And for kissing.

She put the lipstick on her vanity, next to the products she had used to perfect her makeup. Discrete foundation and concealer to harmonize her tone and hide her dark circles. A pearly nude smokey on her eyes, with hints of peach among the colors, to illuminate her gaze. Winged-eyeliner for a more defined shape. Soft red blush and discrete highlighter for sophistication. Mascara, for more volume on her naturally long eyelashes. And the setting spray.

There, she was done with her face.

She took a deep breath, checked for any flaw, then wore her earrings—golden drops matching the swirling gold armlet on her arm, a Tanalean artifact given by her mother. For courage.

She smoothed her dress, feeling more confident. She had picked a peach dress hugging her silhouette, a soft contrast against the striking golden hue of her skin. It was her color, and she wore it like an armor, an impenetrable one, with golden ornaments on the corset and soft drapes flowing behind her as she moved like airy fairy wings.

More deep breaths.

She picked a hair accessory, a deep red rose that she set in her fancy bun.

And she looked at the final result. Red on her lips, in her hair. Peach on her body. Gold at her ears, on her arm, on her feet.

And her. Pounding heart, nervous heart. She felt nothing like her fierce mother who walked in a room without a glance for the people in it. Not now, at least. Not for what she wanted to do.

But it would do.

It had to.

Because she was about to go the HCDS party.

She exhaled.

A week ago, Hana had told Killua that she wouldn't be going. Even before that, she had declined Allan's invitation. The thought alone of meddling with previous associates and people who used to know her had been too much, and it had been a categoric no for her.

But… she didn't want to leave Killua alone. She wanted to go, for him. To keep him company while he was surrounded by all this fake courtesy, to give him someone to talk to among this opulence. She had been to the HCDS parties, before. She had thought a party of hunters had to be spectacular, a gathering of eccentric souls, something like the party at the end of her hunter exam.

But none of that. It was a silent competition, doubled with the opulence needed to find new benefactors, to seduce donators for more funds, more means.

Nothing Killua liked.

She pushed the door to her workroom, checking her computers before going. She had started a gigantic download from a database of handwritings and it was taking forever to be completed.

Perhaps because the download wasn't allowed. But who cared? Not her, clearly. They needed these handwritings to find something that could correspond to Charybdis' or Scylla's. At this point, she was desperate for any hint.

(She wasn't even aware such a website existed; Elias had been the one to inform her. The boy joked a lot but his sources were unconventional and… fairly useful, to say the least.)

The downloads were going well. They were halfway done; if she counted well, they would be over in a few hours.

Then, they'd have the look through the documents downloaded. That, however, would take a lot more time.

She switched off the lights on her way out, taking her phone from the table. She unlocked it, replying to the messages she had received. She hadn't told Killua that she was going; she wanted it to be a surprise. She did, however, send a message to her mother.

'Will you be there tonight?' she asked her, even if she already knew the answer.

Her mother replied fast. Without surprise. She was probably bored beyond relief. 'Ya. You?'

'I'm coming, I think… I'm nervous though…'

'Don't be. They all suck. Lol.'

She smiled at the tiny 'lol' at the end. Her mother was getting the gist of emojis and internet slang. Unlike her father, who couldn't type in internet slang to save his life. 'I bet they do.' She hesitated. 'Killua will be there too.'

 _Mama is typing…_ 'Ohhhh. I get ittttt. You come for your boyfriend, but not for your own mother. Okay, Hana. I'm gonna pretend you didn't just betray me.'

She chuckled. 'Mamaaaa noooo,' she tried, sending her laughing emojis. 'He's nervous because he'll meet you.'

'He should be.'

'You'll be nice to him Mama, right?' she asked, twiddling her thumbs as the reply loaded.

Her reply came immediately. 'Of course.' Her mother had added a devil emoji.

 _Not very reassuring_ , Hana thought with a smile. 'I love you,' she sent to her mother, with a heart.

'I love you too, mya jamrin.'

She felt lighter, reading the last words. It was Tanalean for 'my warrior', her mother's favorite term of endearment.

Right. She was a warrior.

That was also why she wanted to go that damned party. To face her fears, trample down this idea that she was less than she really was, that the judgments of these people mattered. And show them all. She wasn't broken anymore.

It was part of her quest to conquer herself after the trauma.

And she could do it.

Because she was a warrior.

* * *

 **10:02 P.M.**

Killua had come to this party for one reason: observe Erik Faem.

The thing was, there were hundreds of guests, none of them being the infamous golden boy. And Killua was getting tired of making conversations with people who were clearly trying to show off. Or get in his pants. Or both.

 _How the hell is that a hunter party?_ He thought with bitterness, remembering the yearly Hunter Gathering to which he had participated with a year ago, with Gon, a convivial party with actual conversations, games, and, most importantly, food.

Yes. Food. _Real_ food. Not just caviar and foie gras with fancy decoration in fancy china. He was hungry, for God's sake. He would give anything for a _huge_ Big Mac.

He left the woman who was trying to start a conversation, excusing himself with a crisp smile. She feigned to be offended but he didn't bother with an apology. He needed some champagne; perhaps if he got drunk, he would forget just how bored he was.

(It didn't matter that he could hardly get drunk. He had hope.)

 _I miss her_ , he thought as he made a beeline toward the main hall where the sad excuse for a buffet stood. Hana. He pictured her spring eyes, her ridiculously cute grin, her lips that he could kiss for hours.

He stifled a sigh.

Would it be considered rude if he left the party as soon as he saw Faem?

Did he care?

All he wanted was go home and be with her. Chat with her, about anything. Hold her. Kiss her. Anything but stay there with people who didn't two shits about him—and people he didn't give two shits about.

In the main hall, he picked a glass of champagne from a waiter standing there, thanking him after the man nodded at him. It was almost sad, the flicker of surprise when Killua had thanked him. How invisible did he feel in this swarm of people who saw him like a walking tray?

He took a sip of champagne. He had always liked luxury, no matter his taste for simple things. He liked the sleek comfort of wealth, the practicality that came with money, the aesthetical aspect of it. But he hated the idle mindset associated with wealth. The dehumanization of people, the hierarchic system, the insubstantial small talk.

It pissed him off.

"Ah, there you are! Mr. Zoaldyeck!"

Started away from his thoughts, Killua swiveled to meet the owner of the voice. It was Allan Fox, as tall and confident as ever, gesturing him to come.

A man was standing next to him, observing him with interest.

It took Killua a few seconds to recognize him. When he did, his eyes imperceptibly widened. He forced a smile, knowing it looked natural as he walked toward Fox, his gaze fixed on the man next to him, the angelic face hiding a cunning mastermind.

Sand blond hair. Cerulean eyes. Golden skin. Sunny smile.

Erik Faem, in all his glory.

 _Finally found the target._

"I'm so glad you could make it," Allan said, patting his shoulder with sincere affection. The truth was, for all the years that had followed their cooperation, Fox had always showed admiration and support to Killua, even more now that he knew he was a friend of Hana. It always felt like he wanted to show Killua off to anyone who would listen. "Erik, please let me introduce Killua Zoaldyeck. We cooperated on a complicated case and he saved me so much trouble. A gem, this boy."

Wow. A gem?

Faem smiled, a delicate smile. "A pleasure," he said as he offered his hand.

Killua took it. "The pleasure's mine," he replied, staring in Faem's eyes. _I know who you are_.

Faem held his gaze. _Good. Remember it._

"Allan!" a woman called, waving at them from the other side of the hall. A vague look of weariness crossed Fox's face. It was gone as fast as it had appeared. "I have to leave you two, I still have to welcome more people."

"Good luck, Allan. You'll need it. Don't forget to smile," Faem joked, not bothering with etiquette or courtesy.

Fox just shook his head, plastering a smile to meet a new guest. He had surely been doing this the whole night. Meeting people, doing small talk, praising the president. As a higher-up of the HCDS, he had surely been assigned this tiresome job.

Killua glanced at Faem. Strangely enough, with his offhand jokes and his simple attire—a pristine suit, nothing more, not even a watch—Faem looked like the most authentic guest Killua had seen that night.

Which was ironic.

Killua called a waiter standing near them and took two glasses of champagne. He thanked the waiter, then gave the second glass to Faem.

 _Time for some questioning._

With Allan gone, Faem's joy withered a bit—his smile didn't. "Enjoying the party?" Killua asked, keeping a keen eye on Faem as he took a sip of champagne.

Faem didn't drink. "No. Bit too noisy for me."

At least he was honest.

Killua glanced at the untouched glass in Faem's hands. "I didn't poison it," he said, nodding at the drink. "If I wanted you dead, you'd be ten feet deep in hell already."

Faem chuckled, coating his venom with honey. "I like to think the same, Mr. Zoaldyeck," Faem replied and took a sip.

"If you can talk beyond the grave, that is."

"Is that a threat?"

"Nah. It's dark humor." Killua gestured toward Faem, still blasting a fake smile. "You of all people should recognize a threat when you see one. From years of practice."

"I don't use threats. I prefer to stick to gentle persuasion."

"With a warped sense of gentleness," Killua sneered.

Faem's smile was venomous, his gaze cruel and determined. "To each person their own interpretation. Universality lies in mathematics. Hard facts, theorems, observations. But language is relative. Each person reinvents it, redefines it with their own boundaries." He tilted his head. "Where you see threats, I see gentle persuasion. Because my interpretation of cruelty exceeds the common definition."

Killua tipped his chin up, looking at the man in front of him with a sharp gaze. "So what's torture to you? Rough play? A sweet chitchat around a whip?"

"Oh, please. Whips are so outdated." More cunning smiles. "Are the Zoaldyecks that old-fashioned? I always saw them as a revolutionary family."

"You're not revolutionary, _Erik_. Forging new ways to inflict the oldest brutality doesn't make you a revolutionary, it makes you an asshole."

But Faem simply smiled. "Allan was right when he said you were one of a kind. What word did he use again? A gem." He emptied his glass. "Too bad you can't be polished."

"I'm not for sale." He narrowed his eyes. "You're a close friend to Allan?"

Faem rose indecipherable eyes toward him. "Allan doesn't have close friends."

"Neither do you. Not alive, anyway."

A flicker of hurt passed in Faem's eyes. Gone as soon as it had appeared. Who was it for? Ziam Torana? Eugene Priman? "Tell me, how much do you know about me?"

"Just enough to sort you in the trash. Eugene Priman? Rings a bell?" Killua mocked, careful about the info he relayed.

Nothing transpired in Faem's composure. "A very unfortunate disappearance."

"In which you played a special role," Killua hissed, just loud enough for the two of them only to hear. "You hired Mulgrad to get rid of him. You provided the men and the means. Why act innocent? I know you're full of shit." _And much more than you could imagine._

Faem's cerulean eyes peered deep in Killua's. "Who hired you? Priman's wife?"

"That's none of your business."

"It is, actually. But it's none of _yours_ , yet you offer your rude participation. Does Arashi have anything to do with that?"

"Why does it matter?"

Threat pooled in his eyes. "I know a drastic way to nullify a contract."

"I don't sign contracts. Leaves too many traces. My clients are usually honest when it comes to payments; nobody wants to owe a Zoaldyeck. Besides," he paused, his aura deepening with dark intent. "This became a personal case as soon as you threatened those close to me."

"So it was effective," Faem mused with an innocent smile.

Killua flashed a wicked smile. "Careful with the threats," he warned, and gestured toward the plump woman with wide blond curls and sweet brown eyes standing by the banquet, laughing wholeheartedly with two other women. Olivia Faem herself, Erik's wife and his one weakness. "The recoil would be painful."

For a split second, fear passed through Faem's eyes. But soon enough, it was swallowed by the intense hatred radiating from him. It was perhaps the most honest expression he had shown that night. Just pure, intense hatred.

Unfortunately for Faem, his wife felt their gazes on her. She grinned, a grin so bright it could rival her husband's—except hers was genuine.

Tenderness flashed in Faem's eyes as she beamed at him. Real, sincere tenderness.

She excused herself and approached them. "Dear, I was looking for you," she said, her voice like honey, a fitting voice for a woman that joyful, with her pretty round face and her twinkling eyes.

"I was here the whole time," he said.

She looked at Killua, then blinked. "Oh, I'm so sorry, did I interrupt you?"

"Not at all," Faem said, turning murderous eyes toward Killua. "My wife, Olivia," he introduced, and if Killua wasn't a master of disguised composure, he wouldn't have felt how forced the words were.

Killua smiled, poised and polite, and bowed his head slightly in respect. "Killua Zoaldyeck. A pleasure to meet you."

At the mention of his last name, she paled a bit. She managed a smile, thanked him, and joined a friend who was calling her after placing a quick kiss on her husband's cheek.

A cruel thought hit Killua. "She's charming," he said, torturously satisfied when Faem scowled at him. The sun was long gone, concealed by layers and layers of black clouds.

"She is," Faem replied. He wasn't smiling anymore.

Then, he excused himself and left.

After casting one last wary glance at Killua.

* * *

The hall was crowded when she arrived. Dozens of people dressed in elegant outfits mingled around the main room, clinking glasses of champagne as they laughed together. She swept past a few faces that rang a bell to her, elicited a few indiscrete whispers on her way to the center of the room.

"… Isn't that…"

"… I remember her; I think…"

"… The Freigo Whisper…"

"… Left shortly after…"

Hostile gazes followed the whispers and the rumors. Indignant, shocked gazes. Those widened eyes, those subtly condescending arched eyebrows, those crossed arms, those brief 'look!' on her way; she was aware of them, she had expected them. Nothing groundbreaking. She knew she wasn't welcome in the HCDS. She knew she was rumor material. A girl giving up a privileged position in the top Crime Hunting facility, fleeing after her first big mission. Of course people would talk, make her into the butt of the joke. Nothing had changed.

Except this time, she was holding her head high, even smiling brightly at some of those who recognized her and showed their most disapproving faces. Inside, she was trembling. Terrified. Naked. Desperate for a hole to crawl away from their gazes.

But outside, she was a queen.

And the more she held that composure, the more she started believing that. Her initial nervousness dissolved into a vague detachment. She _was_ a queen. She had reasons to be proud, to hold her head high and walk through the place like she owned it.

They didn't matter. She hadn't come for them. She had come for a certain boy, and she wasn't going back before she saw him.

She stopped walking, scanning the crowd for his tall figure. Craning her neck to see past the guests and the servants, past the whispers and the rumors.

Her heart skipped a beat. She saw him. She spotted him in the crowd. Holding a glass of champagne, absent-mindedly running his finger on the edge of the glass. He had swept back his bangs, discovering his forehead, and he was wearing a deep red button-up—the one he had worn when they had gone to the Italian restaurant—with a black suit and tie.

She reminded herself to breathe. Her heartbeats echoed in her ears. She couldn't peel her eyes off him, couldn't help tracing the graceful line of his neck, the carved planes of his face, the defined edge of his jaw. She felt the same pull she always felt around him, the same giddiness dancing in her stomach. But she didn't miss the disinterest plastered on his face. The sheer boredom.

She took a deep breath, praying all the gods for her heart to stop drumming so damn hard in her chest, and started walking toward him. Her eyes riveted on him. The one face she wanted to see, the one person she wanted to talk to, the one boy she wanted to be with. The one gaze she wanted to feel. The one smile she wanted to see. The one laugh she wanted to hear.

The one. Just the one.

He turned his head, and she abruptly stopped. Then, he saw her. And the drumming resumed, twice as fast and frantic, when his whole face lit up and he slowly smiled and suddenly all the boredom was gone and gone for good. Because of _her_. And he was so beautiful. So damn beautiful. A familiar and beloved masterpiece she couldn't stop contemplating. She beamed at him, risking a small wave of her hand as he gave his glass to a waitress and weaved his way toward her.

"Hey," he breathed when he finally reached her, and smiled a little wider.

"Hey. I, um... I came."

He nodded. "I see that. I'm glad. I didn't think you'd come."

"I hadn't planned to, at first." She glanced at a man who was whispering something to the woman next to him. He followed her gaze, glaring at the man until he looked away. She chuckled. "You have a long way to go if you're gonna glare at them."

"Come with me," he said. He led her outside, to the back gardens, his hand pressed on the small on her back. Her body shivered with his touch, delightfully so. She relished in the warmth that spread in her body when he was near her. How she wished for his arms around her, soothing her safe.

He sighed once they were out. "Much better," he noted. And grinned. Again, she realized. "So, you're here to suffer with me."

"I'm such a good friend, right?"

"Yeah, actually. You are."

She sat on a marble bench near rose bushes. They could hear the low hubbub coming from the main room, but the gardens were empty, save for a few couples strolling farther from them. "How long have you been here?" she asked, taking his hand, and intertwined her fingers with his.

"Too long."

"And what's 'too long' in numerical values?"

He feigned to think, shrugging in that deliberately clueless way of his. "A lot." His gaze dropped to her lips. "Would it ruin your lipstick if I kissed you right now?"

She chortled, stealing a light peck on his lips. "No. I wore matte just to kiss you without smudging red all over your face."

"How thoughtful," he murmured against her lips, bending to kiss her again, lingering a few seconds. Tasting the moment. "My night just got a hundred times better."

"A side effect of my presence."

He got up. "Wanna go for a walk? The garden's nice." He nodded toward the party room. "And empty," he added with a cheeky look.

She took his hand and followed him in the back gardens, strolling by his side.

They walked for at least ten minutes before they found an empty, lit, intimate little place to sit. It was a little square with a wide-edged fountain in the middle, shimmering with lights. She ambled toward it, admiring the details of the dreamlike scenery. The ripples of water that swirled and curled, mirroring the light in bright moving patterns on her skin. The marble mermaid in the middle of the fountain, hair cascading in the water, her fins so thin they were translucid. The crystal jar she was carrying, sprouting water in a regular stream, glittering like a night sky.

And the earthy scent of grass and dew. The songs of crickets pealing around. The cold air seeping through her pores.

"Let me look at you," he said, his voice a low murmur.

She turned around, warm under his gaze. Smiling, as always. And she let him look at her in the light, marveling at the wonder in his eyes, the sheer awe. Because she was the reason for it.

He made her feel precious.

"You're gorgeous," he said in a breath. "You're so gorgeous I almost can't believe it's you."

She burst out laughing. "Just when I thought you had finally learned how to be romantic!"

"I'm romantic alright. Look where I brought you, a magical place straight out of a Disney."

"Question: can you cite three Disneys with fountain scenes?"

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. "Am I supposed to know the answer?"

"Yep. We watched them together."

"… Huuh… The Little Mermaid?" he tried, feigning to wince.

"There's a lot of water in that movie, but no."

"Okay, Hercules?"

"That's one. You still need two."

He sat on the edge of the fountain, then patted his lap. "You think if I dramatically touch the water, the answer will come?"

"Nope." She sat on his lap, sighing when his lips were in her neck and his arms around her waist, pulling her closer.

"Then what if I bewitch you? Will you give me the answer?" he whispered in her ear, his lips brushing that sweet spot beneath it.

Pleasure rippled through her. "If you do more of that, perhaps."

He chuckled, the sound low and all to pleasing to her ears. And let his lips tickle her neck with feather-light kisses, dropping them like murmurs. She arched her neck back, sighing a long sigh. He was back in her ear. "And now?"

Her eyes were closed. She was adrift in her own world, a world where there was only them. "I don't even remember the question." He laughed, and kissed her on the neck without restraint, making her laugh in turn. "You're tickling me!"

The elation faded into silent comfort. He said nothing, just nuzzled his face in her neck and held her close. She rested her hand on top of his, her thumb stroking it. "It feels so good to be with you," he confessed, his voice light with sincerity.

She took his hand and brought it to her lips, kissing his knuckles. "Tell yourself that I haven't been this happy in years." She exhaled. "You make me feel worthy."

"Don't say that," he whispered. "With or without me, you'll always be worthy. You don't need me to be awesome."

She smiled. "But I'm more awesome with you."

"And me with you. It goes both ways, Hana. I'm the happiest I've been in years. I know I don't often say it, but what we have is precious to me."

She noted his word choice, but then found her old insecurities resurfacing in the pool of emotions. Gurgling masses to swallow her whole. "Why me?" she found herself asking, and regretted her question when she felt him flinch, even though it had bothered her for a long time.

"Why not you?"

She nuzzled closer. "I have so many issues. There are so many people who could be better for you."

He exhaled. "What better? You're smart, kind, caring, witty, curious, _beautiful_ , both in and out. You're spilling with love and wonder for the world and for people. And… And you have this thirst for action, for knowledge, for life, that can't be quenched." He sighed. "Hana, you're so intense. You're a breath of fresh air. You pull me toward you; hell, you fill me with warmth and energy. You see beauty in everything and yet you fail to see how beautiful of a person _you_ are, not just in appearance. Sometimes, I wish you could see yourself the way I see you."

She drank his words, letting them wash through her. The insecurities didn't disappear, but they were silent under the flow of his words. "You're so good to me," she breathed. "I can barely see what I did to deserve this."

"You deserve even better," he said in a hushed voice.

"Don't say that." She squeezed his hand. "I didn't tell you, but the other reason I came tonight was because… I wanted to face my fears. To tell myself I could do it, I could face the rumors and the judgmental gazes. And even though I'm barely starting, it still feels like I did something worthwhile. And it's all thanks to you. You made me want to face my fears, to stand straight and keep going. You give me courage."

"Then _I_ did something worthwhile. Your wellbeing is all I want."

"I want the same, for you. And yet I…" Her voice trailed off, thinking of the things he didn't tell her. The things hidden deep in his heart, the secrets behind the flinches and the flashing fear in his eyes at times. "Killua, sometimes, I can feel that there are things that make you feel bad. Things you haven't told me, _deep_ things. Like insecurities or negative feelings or… bad memories. I can feel they're here, and—"

He tensed up. It was so controlled, if she didn't know him better, she wouldn't have felt that slip-up. Alarms rang in her head when she realized his breath had hitched, though very slightly. "What do you mean?"

His voice was poised. Too poised. It felt calculated, the amount of calm he'd need to coat his voice in to appear collected. Like a shield.

She detached herself from his embrace, turning around to see him, still sitting on his lap. He looked a little dazed, worried. Gently, she cupped his face, hoping he felt she was genuine. "I'm not reproaching anything," she said in a soft voice. Gentle, always. "You're allowed to have your secrets, and I of all people understand that. But I just want you to know that you can talk to me. You said yourself it was nasty for you to keep the bad stuff in, and… I'm here for you, Killua, whenever you want to pour the bad stuff away."

He stared at her for a moment, with a little sadness in his eyes. Then, he just wrapped his arms around her and rested his head on her chest, hiding in her neck. "Don't worry about me."

She pulled him closer, stroking his hair. She didn't press, but she was more than sure that something had happened in his past, something that had awoken with this pull between them.

But she wouldn't force him. It wasn't her right. One day he would tell her, when he was ready.

A little bell sound coming from her bag made her open her eyes. He shifted, reaching for her bag to give it to her. "Your phone hates me," he stated as she took it from her bag.

She stared at the message she had just received: 'Where's your boyfriend?'

She grinned.

"What is it? Why are you grinning?"

She looked up from her mother's text. "Killua, are you ready to meet my mom?"

His mouth fell open. "Shit. I had completely forgotten." He fumbled a bit, running a hand through his hair. "Does she know we're… a thing?"

"You mean, does she know we made out like there was no tomorrow? On multiple occasions? Yeah. She does. I finally told her."

He crashed his head on her chest as though he were hiding. " _Noooo_. Now all I'll think about while talking to her is 'I made out with your daughter and grinded with her' and it's gonna be embarrassing as hell."

She giggled. "Think instead of the things you'll do to me tonight," she said in his ear. "When I slip your hands under my shirt."

He looked up, eyes stuck in hers. A thrill shook through her as his hand snuck up her thigh, as she saw the want aroused in his eyes. "You'll let me see?"

Her breath was hoarse. A dreamy smile stretched on her lips as her thumb brushed his lower lip. "Perhaps. If you're good to my mom."

He smiled at the challenge. "Don't worry. She'll love me." He switched to her inner thigh. Still going up. She sucked in a breath, grabbing his shoulders. His hand stopped, resting in the warmth of her inner thigh. "Just like you will after the party," he breathed in her ear, his voice low and sultry and burning slowly, consuming her with throbbing desire. She wanted to take his hand and lead him between her legs and let him do whatever he wanted, everything he wanted.

"Let's go," he said instead, and the moment burst with frustration. He gestured her to stand up. "Your mom's waiting."

He was smirking.

"Asshole," she hissed as she took his hand. It was still warm.

He chuckled, leaving a little peck on her cheek. "Looks like I'm not the only one with my head full of sins."

She took a deep breath, chasing the hundreds of fantasies bustling through her mind. Ones where his hand didn't stop and his fingers did wonders to her.

"You're really not."

* * *

They found Hana's mother, the 'dragon', in the main hall near the dancefloor. A tall, muscular man, with a long blond ponytail was talking to her.

Killua studied the short woman. Standing in all her glory in an all-black suit when she noticed them.

And _boy_ , now he knew where Hana had taken all that beauty from.

"At last. I've been here for like, three years," was the first thing she said when he and Hana reached her.

Hana casually laughed at the joke—and he tried a little smile, a token of politeness. He had to make a good impression, right? "Hi Mama," Hana said, and hugged her mother—who hugged her back. "I missed you!"

More affection and kisses followed. In a way, it reminded Killua of the first time Aunt Mito had hugged Gon and kissed his cheek—how surprised he had been watching such displays of affection. He knew his family was completely dysfunctional and shouldn't be held as references, but going from whips to warm embraces had been a positive shock for him.

"You've got the boy?" Hana's mother then said in a low voice, eyebrows dipped low as she flashed a mischievous smile.

A smile that Hana perfectly replicated. "I've got the boy."

'The boy' in question blinked as they both stared at him, unsure of whether he was supposed to join in on their little joke or just submit to it. So he just stood there, a little gawky and lost. "Um, I suppose I'm 'the boy', right?"

"Damn right you are," Hana's mother said as Hana let go—and threw herself in the arms of the man next to her mother, whose stern face broke into a wide smile.

He extended his arm. "Hi, Hana's mom. I'm 'the boy'. Nice to meet you."

She laughed as she took his hand and promptly shook it. She had a firm grip. "The name's Natsu. Natsu Torana." She let go of his hand.

"Killua Zoaldyeck." He turned toward the man Hana had just hugged like a long-lost friend. He looked nothing like her father—he did remember meeting him at her building, two months ago—with aquamarine eyes instead of the Torana's green, and a scar barring his face.

Natsu gestured toward him. "My friend and subordinate."

The man briefly nodded. "Lenaic Thalassis," he introduced himself, looking a little grim. Until Natsu elbowed him.

"Stop acting like a tough guy, you big marshmallow." She pointed toward him with her thumb. "He's been working with me for years and was Hana's very first friend. I was almost scared her first word would be 'Lenaic' instead of 'Mama'."

Hana giggled, blushing slightly. Killua loved that sight on her, the shy blush when she knew someone was about to say something embarrassing about her.

"She was my hardest mission," Lenaic confessed. "I was only sixteen. Working as Natsu's apprentice. Then she had Hana." He exhaled soundly. "It was… an experience."

"She made him run through the entire building, used him as a model for her make-up practice, styled his hair with her greedy little toddler hands, and pretty much drove him crazy." Natsu huffed, then turned toward Lenaic. "I knew babysitting her would forge you into a real fighter."

"Both of you, stop," Hana managed in between two laughs. "I didn't bring him so you could fill him in on my embarrassing toddler moments."

"Aw, _mya_ _najram_ , that's what my duty as a mother is. To make you look like an absolute moron in front of your boy."

Killua smiled at the term of endearment—it meant something like 'my baby' in Tanalean. "She doesn't need you for that, trust me."

Hana flashed her most outraged face as Natsu burst out laughing. "I like him!" Natsu exclaimed. "I like this boy!"

And he showed his _smuggest_ smirk to Hana. _I told you she'd love me_.

Her lips stretched into a warm smile. A genuine one. And then she took a petty face. "Anyway, I'm not gonna listen to you two roasting me together. I'm hungry. Lenaic, you come with me?"

"Once a babysitter, always a babysitter," Natsu mused while Lenaic and Hana went toward the buffet. She turned her head, wordlessly examining him. "I'm curious about you. Let's get to know each other."

"Sure," he replied, though that last sentence had boosted his nervousness to high levels. All he could do was thank God for his controlled emotions. "But first, how should I call you? You don't look like the type to like being called 'ma'am'," he risked.

"Yeah, I'm not. Natsu is fine." She tapped his shoulder. "And relax. I'm not gonna chop your head off."

He chuckled. "Yeah? You sure about that?"

"My girl has _finally_ found a boy she's ready to show me. I'm not gonna ruin him that early."

"Not 'that early' huh? But later yes?"

She smirked. "If you hurt her, I'll end you."

"If I hurt her, you're welcome to end me."

She arched an eyebrow. "You sound just like my husband." She stopped a waiter passing by and took two glasses of champagne. Right before he left, she chatted with him a little bit—turned out she knew his wife. Killua recognized Hana in that little quirk; she too could start conversations with people like she had always known them, and more times than she would admit, she'd find a friend in common with them.

And the resemblance didn't stop here.

They didn't look alike at first glance. Where Hana was golden and spring green and a warm shade of greige, her mother was olive and shimmering blue and a deep inky black. And well, Hana definitely hadn't taken her tall genes from her mother. Natsu was almost a head shorter than Killua—while wearing heels. And still looked intimidating as hell, with her piercing gaze and sharp eyebrows, sharp enough to cut.

But the more he looked, the more their similarities struck him. The delicate button nose. The full pout of their lips. The grace of their hands. The elegant arch of their neck. And that tendency to scrunch their nose when they were telling a joke or reacting to one, to laugh loud and clear, to smile brightly and without any restraint. Both bold and brave and bright.

Clearly, she was her mother's daughter.

The waiter finally left with a big smile on his face.

"Okay boy, first question," Natsu immediately attacked, blue eyes studying him, and he unwittingly squared his shoulders. "Cliché one: how do you like the party?"

Was that a trap question? "Honestly, it sucked until Hana joined me." He looked at the spot where Lenaic stood before he went with Hana. "Is your husband here?"

"Nah. Haru doesn't like big gatherings." She looked away. "Neither do I, but I have to be here."

"Have to?"

She gave a wry smile. "It's 'highly recommended' we participate to the HCDS events. Not as a rule per se but, you don't want the Vice-President to be mad at you."

"Even you?"

"I'm not scared of him. But he will lash out on my subordinates if I'm not obedient. In his own way, you know."

"Yeah, by giving them murderous cases," he whispered.

She looked straight at him. "How do you know?"

"Rumors. I heard he wasn't a particularly pleasant man. Emre Nightowl right?"

"Right." She scowled, but not at him. "Pleasant is a foreign concept to him." She finished her glass in a single long gulp. "At least the champagne is good."

"My thoughts exactly. Though this is at least my fourth glass."

"How are you not drunk?" she chuckled.

He opened his mouth. He had been about to say 'Zoaldyeck genes'—a punchline he would have been very pleased with—but joking about being part of the world's most infamous assassin family probably wasn't gonna make a good impression on his girl's mom. "Um, alcohol tolerance."

She scoffed. "More like Zoaldyeck genes, am I right?"

To which he just laughed. "Okay, you win."

"Stop trying so hard to make a good impression, it's not working," she joked. "Relax. You would know if I disliked you. You'd _feel_ it. On your left cheek, precisely."

"Good to know," he said after a chuckle, and relaxed.

"So what kind of hunter are you?" she asked, changing the topic.

"Crime hunter. Freelance."

She nodded. "Good, very good. Are you working on anything right now?"

"A disappearance." That turned out to be a savage death plotted by the HCDS's most important benefactor, Erik Faem, but that was irrelevant. "Tricky but interesting. I became far more involved that I first intended to."

"That's how you know a good crime hunter from a mediocre one. The interest and the curiosity. The need to know." She shrugged. "Didn't expect less from my daughter's boy."

It wasn't the first time she called him that, but each time, a little fuzzy feeling tickled him—joy, or pride, he didn't know. To be called 'Hana's boy' left him with a sweet satisfaction in his chest. Yes, he was her boy. "What about you? Are you working on anything now?" he asked, genuinely curious. Natsu was one of the HCDS's top agents; surely whatever she could be working on had to be fascinating.

"The dreaded usual. Drug trafficking, pedophilic networks, sex slavery. They take time." She lowered her voice. "Everybody's so hung up about the Whisper they forget bigger monsters are still lurking. Monsters who pimp kids and call it a fetish and ruin lives for the sake of their nasty business."

He winced. "That's a rough routine." He nodded toward her. "So you won't catch him," he deduced. "The Whisper."

She peered in his eyes. "No. You know what will happen if I do. And that's the last thing I want."

He slowly rolled the glass in his hand, watching the champagne twirl in the glass. "You think she'd chase after him if you did?"

"I wish I could say 'no' but she's my daughter. And just like me, she's nothing short of a loyal idiot."

"Self-deprecation runs in the family," he noted.

"Nah. I'm a fantastic person. But I also happen to be an idiot."

"Sometimes being an idiot for the good cause is what makes you fantastic."

She rose her glass toward him. "Spoken like a true loyal idiot."

He mimicked her gesture. "Busted."

"One more good point for you. I'm starting to see why she likes you."

Allan Fox sidled up to them as Natsu finished those words. Even though he looked pristine, Killua could feel he was a little out of breath. "Natsu, hi. And you too, Mr. Zoaldyeck. Did I say hello already?"

Natsu patted him on the shoulder. "You did, Al." Then she gestured toward the banquet. "By the way, guess who came tonight?"

He blinked, then widened his eyes as he broke into a grin. "Hana came?"

"The one and only," Natsu replied. She nodded toward Killua. "Gotta thank this boy for that."

Fox let out a little laugh of relief. "You should have told me! I have to find her. Where is she?"

"You know what's the only thing Hana likes as much as boys?"

Allan tilted his head. "The buffet?"

Killua snorted.

"I heard that," Hana's voice called out to them. She was laughing, her cheeks a little red from the champagne, even though she had only had two glasses. She was going slow with the alcohol—he suspected he was the reason for that. "Did you just make a squad to make fun of me?"

"Your biggest fan is here, Hana," Natsu said, gesturing toward Fox.

Hana giggled a little, and Fox shook his head in disbelief with a dreamy smile on his lips. "I'm speechless," he said. At this moment, the musicians started playing an agreeable waltz, welcoming the guests on the large dance floor. Killua could almost see the lightbulb switch on above Allan Fox's head. He took Hana's hand. "You know, I always say, a dance is worth a thousand words. Will you offer me this dance, Hana?"

Hana laughed, Natsu whistled, Lenaic smiled a little—and Killua, though he was a _little_ jealous, was gloating. At last, Hana was comfortable with her former teacher. Despite all her distance, she had missed him.

"You know I can't say no to that," Hana said, letting him lead her toward the swarm of twirling dancers. Then, a woman invited Lenaic, and he left them.

"You're alone with the dragon again," Natsu called, forcing him to detach his eyes from Hana's swirling figure.

"I don't mind. I don't dance."

She dubiously raised an eyebrow. "Sure." With a small smile, she stared at her daughter laughing with Fox while they waltzed together, mentor and student reunited. "I haven't seen her that happy in a long while," she admitted. A dark veil fell on her eyes. "Not genuinely, at least. I don't know what you did to her, but it's working."

He shrugged. "I did nothing special. She's recovering of her own will. I'm just trying to support her the best I can."

"That's what she needs." She smiled, a thankful smile. "I'm glad she's managed to make such a positive connection with you."

The corner of his lips tipped up slightly. A connection was exactly what was between them. Deep and intricate. Real and intimate. As though they had always known each other when they had barely met a few months ago. "Thanks. We just—we clicked. And I'm glad that we did." He changed the topic after clearing his throat. "Tell me, you're the one who infused the Hunter culture to her, right? She told me she was born in that atmosphere and I… kinda always found that fascinating. Growing up surrounded by hunters."

She smiled in recognition, as though she remembered something pleasant. "I was only a vector. Deep down, Hana was a child of the hunter world, not just because of me. All the people here, my friends and colleagues, they took part to her upbringing as much as I did."

"How come?"

"Well, Allan played with her when she was still in the crib. Lenaic looked after her when she begged to come to my work. Some of my students even pretended to fight her and always let her win when she was a toddler. She was the little mascot. Imagine how thrilled they were when she became a hunter of her own, when she joined us on equal footing..." She frowned, holding to her last words, refusing to speak them. _And then she was gone_. "Ever since she was a little girl, she's showed this attraction to our world. And I believed she could make a good hunter. I mean, she's brave, curious, versatile, with a strong will and a thirst of knowledge that all hunters need. No matter what she thinks of herself."

"Is that why you supported her decision to become a hunter? Or did you give her the idea?"

"I didn't want to push my own views on her, so I never openly asked her to take the exam. But she asked me to train her of her own will, and spent more and more time at the HCDS with me and my colleagues—as a student, then an apprentice. Eventually, I just felt she was burning to be like us." She paused. "I always supported her decision, but I know I would never have accepted if I didn't believe she had all the keys to success—and survival. I would never risk her life if I wasn't a hundred percent sure she'd be fine. But still, I always tried to go her way when I figured it wouldn't be dangerous."

He listened to Natsu as she spoke, picturing his father repeating that family came first, shoving the family's traditions down his children's throats since their mother stopped breastfeeding them. The chains, the violence, the big plans awaiting them with their whole life plotted out for them. The great expectations and greater punishments. "Sounds ideal to me," he said in a low voice. "Letting your kids explore life while protecting them from harm."

"And explaining. _Talking_. Children learn the world with their own sets of tools. Your job as a parent is to help them explore and stop them before they eat worms or throw themselves down a cliff thinking they can fly. And then explain why, unless you want them to do it again. Scolding only works when the child understands why it's bad to do something."

He chuckled. "You're speaking from experience?"

She sighed. "God, yes. Hana was born an explorer. Except when you're a parent, that usually means you'll be kissing a lot of bumps and bandaging a lot of wounds."

"And buying a lot of ruined dresses, apparently."

She laughed. "That too. That and scolding her." She slightly tilted her head, examining him. "Now, about you, Killua."

"What about me?"

It was so obvious, what she wanted to talk about. "I'm not sure you like talking about your family but… You're 'him' right?"

He frowned. "Him?"

"The rebel," she clarified with a playful light in her eyes. "The one Zoaldyeck who's ever refused to bend to his family's authority."

His lips quirked up. "That's a very cool way to call common sense."

But she shook her head. "What you did wasn't common sense. It's fucking bravery. Don't reduce your achievements to nothing."

He looked away. "It's nice, put this way."

"You're not in contact with them anymore?"

"Nope. And I've made clear that I didn't want them to reach for me." He smiled. "I think it's safe to say they finally understood, after all these years. They still think I'll come back one day—that's why they're so lenient. But for now, they're leaving me in peace." He paused. "Hana is safe, too. I made them promise they wouldn't harm anyone I love."

"I'm not worried about that. If I believed one second that my daughter wasn't safe with you, I wouldn't have supported your relationship." She narrowed her eyes. "I'm curious, though. What was the price of such a promise?"

He arched his eyebrows. "Well—I may or may not have beaten up my older brothers and threatened to kill my mother. Until my father accepted."

She laughed. "How it all backfired in his face! The son he so intensively trained using that training to free himself. _Now_ that's good plotting."

He smiled. "Pretty much," he agreed.

"Are you sure he's gonna keep his promise, though?"

"Zoaldyecks are dangerous assholes, but they always hold their promises. They're serious business among them—called blood promises," he explained. "It's tricky though, because when you make a promise, you have to make sure there are no loopholes that they could exploit."

"Like straight out of a fantasy novel," she mused.

"And just as thrilling," he deadpanned.

She had a bit of a sad smile then. It was strange, seeing it on her. Such a motherly, sorrowful smile to a boy who was barely more than a stranger.

Yet he couldn't relate to it. There was nothing sad about his godforsaken family, because he had found his own. Gon, Leorio, Kurapika. Mito. Mag. And now, Hana.

The music changed to a slow waltz. Lenaic came back with the woman who had snatched him away, both of them tired from the dance. Killua let his eyes fall on Hana mingling in the crowd, her laughing figure reflecting Fox's. Again, that same twinge in his chest.

He gave his glass to a waiter.

"Natsu, it was a pleasure meeting you," he started, readjusting his suit. "I enjoyed this conversation with you."

"Same goes here, Killua." She offered a knowing smile. "Sad to see you go so early, though."

"Well, I'd stay longer, but it's the second time I watch her dance with another man and I think it's about time I step on that dancefloor."

"I thought you didn't dance?" she teased.

He smirked. "What wouldn't I do for your daughter?"

* * *

If someone had told her that she'd be waltzing with her long-lost nen master after avoiding him for nearly three years, in a place where she felt like more of a joke and outsider than a guest, she wouldn't have believed them.

And yet.

"I was right, Hana," Allan started as they twirled around with the other dancers. "Dances speak better than words. Can you feel what I'm feeling?"

"I'm feeling that you're trying to be inspirational and cheesy—and failing."

He laughed. "You felt right. I'm as good with inspirational speeches as I am with waltzing," he admitted. "It's a miracle I haven't stepped on your foot."

"You better not ruin my pedicure," she warned.

"I wouldn't dare." He made an ample movement, gliding along the ballroom with his hand on her back. "But cheesy or not, I need to say it." He sighed of relief. "I'm proud, Hana. So proud of you. For being here and being you. And so proud to dance with you and show everyone how brave of a girl, of a student, of a _hunter_ you are."

She chuckled, letting his words soothe her. How she had missed the simple flow of their conversations, the delight bubbling through her when he encouraged her. He had watched her grow, had raised her like a member of her own family would have.

God, she had missed him.

"Thank you," she breathed. "I… It wasn't easy to come here at first, to show myself to the others. I wouldn't have found the strength if it weren't for Killua. So this victory—it's not only mine."

"You did find the strength by yourself, because you had it in you. What he ignited was already here, Hana. He was just the spark you needed. And I'm sure he would agree with me on it."

She broke into an easy smile. "Thank you for being so patient with me," she said, peering in his eyes. Soft blue and serene, nothing like his usual steely gaze. A lump lodged in her throat. How long had it been since she had seen him so peaceful? "Thank you, and… and I'm sorry, for all this time avoiding you. You too needed support—from me, because I know best what it was like to lose Feri. And yet I let you dow— _Oh my God_!" she exclaimed as he dipped her and pulled her back up, all the while twirling. "We're _waltzing_ Allan, not pulling _stunts_ for God's fucking sake!"

Allan laughed, falling back into the traditional posture—his left hand on her back, her right hand on his upper arm, their remaining hands clasped together, her right side against his right side. "I was hoping the dip would wash some sense in your head."

"That was a terrible pun."

"My favorite." His eyes searched hers. "The point is, you didn't let me down. You weren't obligated to take care of me, Hana. And although I do wish we had stayed in contact, the past is in the past, and I regret nothing of it. You emerge from this ordeal, bright and beautiful as you are, and that's all that counts."

Gratitude pooled in her chest, until she felt so moved she could have swayed with tears. "Thank you," she let out, her voice breaking.

"Don't cry," he said, voice soothing like that of her father. "Hold your head high, release the tension, and stare right at me. You've got this, and you always will."

She did as he instructed. She tipped her chin, relaxed, and stared in his eyes. Let him guide her through the ballroom, all the while holding her head high and keeping her tears inside until they dissolved in her pride. And he smiled, because he had taught her right.

He always had.

The orchestra died in a long moment, violins holding their last notes for a few seconds. A few guests left the dancefloor, others joined in for the next song.

Allan carefully let go of her, but not before taking hold of her hand between both of his and gently patting it. "Thank you for this dance, Hana. Be brave."

She put her hand on top of his. "I will."

"Sorry Mr. Fox, I'm taking over."

Her eyes darted toward the voice, the beloved voice she had least expected in the middle of a ballroom.

And yet, here he was. Gentle smile and pretty blue eyes and his strong frame towering with elegance. "Killua?" she called, joy and surprise ringing through her tone.

"Who else?"

Allan chuckled, letting go of her hand to pat Killua's shoulder. "I believe the next dance is a slow one. Make the most of it."

"We will," Killua replied as Allan left, bowing his head one last time as he joined her mother. Killua turned back toward her. "If you want to."

"Of course I want to! I thought you didn't dance so I didn't ask you, but I've been dying to dance with you," she chittered, blushing at the excitement in her voice.

"I don't dance—not usually." He smirked. "Except the lewd ones at nightclubs."

Heat surged in her neck at the thought—gliding against his body, her back to his chest, writhing with his hands on her hips pressing her against him and his lips in her neck. Bad idea. "We have to do that one day," she breathed. "But then why are you dancing?"

He smiled. "You."

The music started, a slow pace with low notes. He brought her against him, his right hand gripping her waist. Instinctively, she put her left hand on his shoulder, took his left hand with her right, and rested her body against his, leaving only a few inches between their faces. "This is why I love slow dances," she said. "I can pretend I can dance while staring at you the whole time."

"It's hardly dancing," he whispered, leading her in the masses of dancing couples. "Which is why it's the perfect dance for me."

"I thought your mom had taught you how to waltz."

He scoffed. "She did. But I prefer slow dancing. At least we can talk and—" He bent slightly, stealing a peck on her lips. "—And kiss."

She grinned. "I like how you think." She squeezed his shoulder, loving the way he felt under her hand. She could picture the strong curve of his shoulder, the warmth of his skin, the ridges of his muscles connecting. "How was mom with you? Did it go well?"

"It did actually. I like your mom."

"What did you talk about?"

"You, mainly. She told me a lot of sweet things about you."

She groaned. "... Like what?"

"Like the fact that toddler-you fancied worms."

" _Nooooo_ ," she whined. "Look, I was tiny, okay?"

"Tiny and already adventurous."

"Shut up. Or else I'll rub my foundation all over your suit."

"And then _I_ need lessons of romance."

She scrunched her nose. "Did she bring up your family?"

"A bit. She was cool with it."

She searched for his eyes. "You know, when I told her you had cut ties with your family, she was admirative of you."

Finally, he looked her in the eye. "Why?"

"Because you escaped a glass labyrinth, that's why. That's what abuse is. And not any abuse; what you went through, what you outgrew, is _hell_ , Killua. It takes colossal strength. I think it's admirable. And she thinks so too."

He remained silent, though his gaze was fraught with reserve. "I don't know," he finally said, weighing his words. "It was all I knew so I can't realize. When you're so deep into something you don't realize how fucked up it is until you're out of it."

"Don't say that," she shushed, stroking his neck.

"It doesn't even anger me," he argued. "What they did to me. I grew numb to it. I feel so distant from it, it's like it never happened."

"But it did, and you saved yourself from it. You shattered their goddamned cages and mended yourself."

He pressed her closer against him, his palm warm on her back. "I think I never had a proper reaction to what they did to me," he exhaled. "People get shocked, sad, horrified. And it doesn't reach me. No matter how fucked up I know it was, I can't feel anything, any anger toward what they did to me. All I can see is the… use I have for it." His face grew dark. "Except the needle."

"Why do you think that is?" she prompted. "Why do you think the needle angered you that much?"

He opened his mouth. "Because it made me doubt my loyalty to Gon. It made me forget my sister. That's why."

"Yes. Because that was how you coped, Killua. They tortured you, but in your mind, you were free. Free to like and think whatever you wanted." She tightened her grip on his shoulder. "That's why they used the needle. To try to control the one thing about you they couldn't control, the one thing that made it impossible for them to get to you. You see how fucked up that is? That's what makes me so angry. The way they made you feel so helpless and alone and fucked up. The way they messed up your perception of yourself in hopes that you would submit to them."

His hand moved from her waist to her back. "Don't anger yourself over it," he softly said, tenderly stroking her back. "They're not worth it."

"I'm not angry." She sighed. "I try to imagine what you went through, what you survived. I try to imagine just how strong you are. I can't believe someone can have that much love inside of them." She closed her eyes, stroking the back of his hand with her thumb. "You know what you remind me of?" she murmured in his ear, moving slowly along the rhythm.

"What?"

"The flowers that grow through the cracks in the paving. You know, those tough little lives that thrive against all odds and grow into something beautiful. And even though they were trapped they still broke through. That's you."

A fond smile slowly formed on his lips. Warm, delicate, flooded with gratitude and awe. His eyes shone with wonder and emotion. He sighed of delight. "You're incredible," he chuckled, letting his lips linger on her temple. "Thank you, Hana."

His voice, no louder than a murmur, faded into a breath. Silence embraced them in a small bubble—their own, with their mixed breaths and their shared gazes and their slow movements guided by the music. He said nothing more, instead just smiling that sweet, shy smile of his. That rare, deliberate expression of vulnerability when he bared his feelings for her to see. The confusion, the joy, the bliss. As though she had moved something in him with those simple words, those tiny confessions that barely began to express her love and her admiration for him.

So she stayed silent, too. Let herself bask in his presence with her gaze lodged in his and her body moving with his. Enveloped in blue quietude in his eyes, the warm aura around him. Touched to the core by his vulnerability so willingly exposed to her.

They spoke more than any words would.

Something flickered in his eyes, then. It lasted a split second, but it was enough for her. The bubble burst, the silence waned. His timid happiness died into pure horror as he stared at something behind her, behind the crowd, _far_ behind.

Something that would soon erupt into chaos.

* * *

 **A/N:** Ahahaha. I wonder what that thing might be. Oh shoot, looks like Yui has planned to ruin it all again! :D

I hope you liked the chapter! My personal favorite part was the fountain scene, when they start getting hot. It was very funny to write too lol. **What was your favorite moment?** Did you like the chapter? Please review! It boosts an author's story when you review, and their self-esteem. **Even just a few words is better than nothing**. Nothing means we assume no one read actually lol…

Next chapter is called **Shadows and Smoke** , and yes that sounds like a total Young-Adult book title, but I love YA so :D (yes like a mashup of _Shadow and Bone_ and _Daughter of and Smoke and Bone_ lol. Both really great btw if you want to read new stuff.) I think you'll like it. You'll find a lot of revelations about Hana.

Until then, I'll see you! Check the little preview below. And stay awesome ;)

Bye!

* * *

" _Help me remove my dress," she asked, giving him her back, pushing her hair over her shoulder._

 _He exhaled, sidling up to her. He slowly unzipped her dress then, pink fabric giving in to golden skin. The slit in her back grew until he reached her lower back, the base of her spine. For an instant, he forgot everything, gently glided the back of his fingers on the sliver of skin revealed, relishing in the sensation against his skin. The heat of her skin, the delicateness of it. The bump of every vertebrae, of any muscle._

 _With infinite care, he placed his hands on her shoulders, his breath hitching ever so slightly as the dress slid off her body. And he pressed his lips on her nape as she sighed and nuzzled into his arms. He wrapped his arms around her, brought her close, closer. And buried his face in her neck._

 _She was silent, resting her back to his chest and stroking his hand with her thumb. And they stayed this way in their bundle of warmth for a few long minutes. Two bruised dancers in torn costumes, muscles seething from the effort, minds racing from the shock. Still catching up, because it was all they could do, with the things they had seen and heard and done and felt. People falling, screaming, dying. Spilled blood, spilled tears. Columns of smoke, fireless smoke. Hunters cooperating to save what could be saved. To choke the fire and chase the curse away._

 _And him. The fear ringing in his head, the whole time, knowing that the smoke nen user was among them. That he had seen Hana. That if he hadn't reacted fast, she would be yet another corpse in the pile of charred bodies they had gathered._

 _He tightened his embrace, frowning in her neck._

 _He couldn't bear the thought._


	27. Shadows and Smoke

**A/N** : Yooo guys! How are you? :D

First of all, **a happy birthday to the sweetest character ever, my lovely Leorio!** Honestly, Leorio is husband material. And dad material. And brother material. And best friend material. And—you get my point, right? He's perfect, and I love him.

Anyway, I hope you're ready for revelations and chaos 'cause that's what you're getting with this chapter. Nothing too painful, I promise. But it's a fast-paced chapter where you learn, um, a lot about Hana… Read to find out :D

On the news side, **I'm almost done with chapter 28**! I only need to wrap it up. If you're interested, you'll find **an excerpt** of it on the story's blog (poisonedamaryllis, tagged under 'excerpts') or on my blog (tagged under 'my writing' or 'poisoned amaryllis'. If you can't find it, do ask! I'll give you a link. Also, a good chunk of chapter 29 is done too. I can't wait to finish them and also to get there because things get… _interesting_ , if you know what I mean.

Life wise, there's nothing unusual. Beside the fact that my oven sucks and won't bake my brownies correctly but yeah. OH and I finished **A Torch against the Night** (by Sabaa Tahir) last time, and… HOLY SHIT. IT WAS SO GOOD. If you like YA, romance, badassery, action, bloody stuff, and amazing characters, you HAVE to read this series ( **An Ember in the Ashes** ). It's amazing anddd the series has a character named Elias that I'd totally marry lol. Also the main characters have such a healthy friendship? I'm shook.

As always, **thanks to all of you** who read, follow, favorite, and especially review this story! I love you. (Especially reviewers. But I think you understood that.)

Some song recommendations to wrap-up this A/N: **Soldier** and **Breathe** , both by Fleurie, fit this chapter a lot. Especially Soldier.

Now dig in! Hope you like it ;)

* * *

Replies to guest reviews:

 **Irem** : Hii! Thank you so much for your review and your kind words! I'm really happy you like the dynamic between the characters ahh *A* You're so kind to Hana, that means a lot to me, so thank you a lot! I love it when people notice the growth she goes through ;w; Also omg I still can't believe people actually look forward to my updates, it's surreal ;w; I hope I won't disappoint! *hugs*

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Chapter 26: **Shadows and Smoke**

* * *

Everything was going just fine.

He was dancing with her, listening to her sweet laugh, holding her against him. Eyes locked in her own, spring all around them. A slow melody carried them, each note a small step on the floor, a minimal movement part of this simple dance with her.

He had been thinking at this moment that he loved her. This girl who spoke of him like he was poetry, who opened her arms to all his doubts, who shushed all his worries with a gentle touch of her palm on his cheek, the space of a dance. This girl so beautiful and oblivious, so brave and intense and passionate.

Right. He loved this girl. And every moment spent with her gave him more reason to, every second in her presence carved into himself.

But then, something had changed. Behind the warmth of her eyes, behind even the flow of the crowd around them, something had moved. The unearthly, unnatural feel to it had drawn his eyes, all his senses on high alert as he followed the moving thing.

It was one of those times when he could see everything. The fast and the slow, the past and the future. All of it squeezed inside a tiny split second, an instant so infinitely small only he could feel it pass with the sizzle of electricity.

At first, he hadn't seen it clearly. It was blending in the dark, black against black. A small and surreptitious little thing creeping behind the guests, like a ball of dust the size of a coconut bouncing off the walls. But when he recognized its odd texture, everything came crashing down within him.

This smoky, noise-like texture. Smoldering like a bubble of smoke.

The same smoke that had killed Robert Mulgrad.

The moment he realized that, his brain stopped functioning. He swept Hana off her feet, clasped a hand on her mouth and nose, stopped breathing.

And he ran. And ran. Flashing past the rooms as the screams erupted in the ballroom and the explosion boomed behind him. Ignoring the tension in her body as she clung to him in her confusion—and surely her fright. And mostly, ignoring the fear seeping in his mind. Because it would only slow him down.

And he couldn't afford to.

He only stopped when he reached the back gardens, far from the doors from which smoke was gushing out in an intoxicating fog. He let her down on the grass, let her gulp down air as he checked she was okay. He didn't even feel the cold on his skin or the sweat on his brow or the air rushing into his lungs.

He just needed to know if she was fine.

"What? What is happening?!" she asked, shaken, wild eyes staring into his. "Killua, I—"

"I don't know. I saw something—something like smoke and I… I didn't think. I had to get you out of there." He turned around, staring at what she was staring at. People were pouring out of the building, few of them unscathed, many of them wounded.

"Is this… the smokes nen user," she whispered, horror wrung in her voice. "The one who killed Mulgrad?"

He met her gaze. "I think so."

She suddenly jumped to her feet, staggering a little before he stood to support her. "Killua, my mom's still inside," she said in a wobbly voice. "She's still—"

"I'll find her. Hana," he called, making her look him in the eye. "I promise, I'll find her. But don't go inside. You'll get yourself killed."

He haggard gaze didn't register what he had just said. She was lost, still catching up with the horror unleashed on them. And he couldn't blame her—he hadn't reacted just yet. Shock, confusion, fear—none of them made sense to him at this moment. He was moving on autopilot and his autopilot had one mission: making sure she was safe.

"Let me help," she finally said and caught his arm, right as he was about to head back in to save her mother. When he swiveled, her confusion had faded, leaving only determination—the necessary kind, the one all hunters had to wield in deadly situations, no matter how they felt.

He opened his mouth to protest just as a voice called out to them. "Hana! Killua!"

Relief flooded him.

Natsu had made it out.

"Mama!"

Natsu pulled her daughter in a tight embrace. "You made it," she breathed, eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed.

"Killua saved me," Hana explained as they broke the hug.

Natsu patted his shoulder. "Can't make a better impression."

He managed a smile. "Let's help the others."

They started working.

The thing with hunters was that they were always prepared for the worse. It was the moment when they all shoved their emotions in a dusty part of their brain, the time to care for the wounded and take control of the situation. There was no time to think of how shocked or scared or hurt they were. No time to mourn the fallen or cry the dead. They had to be strong, to be brave, to be inventive and reactive and fast and tough.

So they tried to be.

He tried to be.

Just like in the havoc of the Chimera Ants war, he went from wounded to wounded to dead, counted the living, checked for the survivors. While Hana helped the injured and Natsu called for backup, he used Godspeed to navigate through the estate—what wasn't on fire— with the other hunters, to find the tiniest flicker of life in this pit of death.

But there was little hope. All he had found so far were rows and rows of corpses. All the same: hard like wood, charred to the bone. Victims of Mulgrad's killer. All he could hope was that some of them would be as lucky as he was and emerge with 'only' the strange illness that had plagued him. That was the most hopeful he could allow himself to be.

Meanwhile, columns of smoke still poured out of the building, rising toward the dark sky like the tendrils of a monster. As he stopped by the entrance room, he studied the smoke, trying to discern the nen smokes from the fire smokes. But he couldn't. Whoever had cast this curse on the HCDS party had been careful enough to cover it up with arson.

The same pattern. The same modus operandi.

The same killer.

"Clear the area!" a man shouted. Killua felt a tap on his back. "I said clear the area!"

"What if there are people inside?" he replied. "I'm fast, I can look for survivors."

"Orders are clear: nobody goes back in," the man argued. "Not my orders. Please make this easy for me." He squeezed Killua's shoulder.

Killua exhaled sharply, following the man away from the entrance. Instructions _were_ clear: nobody could stay inside, and nobody could return. A few pathologist hunters had quickly found that the smokes were a toxic nen curse, that inhaling them was fatal, more so than the fire itself. And it wasn't like Killua could blame them for their harsh decision; Mulgrad had died in much less time. If anyone had ingested the smokes for this long, they had to be dead.

So he said nothing, examining the back gardens instead. The chaos all around him. The hunters working together. The bloody suits and dresses.

How had this happened?

"Let me go back inside!" a man yelled near the entrance.

Surprised by the familiar voice, Killua's head jerked toward the sound. He widened his eyes.

"Erik, you can't go back!" Allan yelled back at Faem while a man—whom Killua vaguely recognized as Lenaic—held him back.

 _Faem?_

"Al, you don't understand, Olivia is still inside!" Faem shouted back. "LET GO!"

"I can't let you die for nothing Erik!" Allan shouted back, taking hold of his shoulders as Faem tried to wriggle out of Lenaic's grip.

 _What the hell?_

"She's alive! She must be! Al, I can't lose her, _I can't lose her_ ," Faem repeated, wild eyes riveted in Allan's, a frantic expression stuck on his face. One of pure fear, pure terror.

 _Sincere_ fear.

"Erik—"

Killua didn't hear the rest. All he heard was Hana calling him as he ran straight into the fire, straight into the den of death smokes, to look for his enemy's wife. Olivia Faem, who probably wasn't even alive anymore.

But even if it was infinitesimal, there was a chance she could be alive, and he couldn't let that chance slip.

So he broke into a run, electricity sizzling at his feet and pushing him forward. He held his breath and closed his eyes, unraveling his En to help him find his way through the maze.

The first thing he felt was the horrendous, searing heat, the fire claiming him and licking his skin and his clothes. He was moving too fast to catch fire, but the flames remained merciless. They roared and crackled and sparked and he saw their blazing light through his closed eyelids. Undulating like the dancers they had swallowed in their scorching core.

He flashed past the corpses littering the ground, avoiding the rubble collapsing from the ceiling and the pillars as the room fell apart, torn by the explosion. He couldn't waste time. If Olivia really was still out there, if she had managed to trick Death and not inhale the cursed smokes, then she had been holding her breath for way too long or she would succumb to the heat. He had to be fast.

He didn't feel anything in the ballroom, so he bolted for the adjacent rooms. The buffet room, the grand hall… she was nowhere to be found.

 _Focus, Killua._

He focused all of his energy into his En as he increased the range to his limits. The heat had become nearly unbearable—topped with the lack of oxygen and the pain of the flames eating through his clothes, melting his soles and his skin. He hadn't stopped running—his lightning speed helped him avoid the flames rather than burn. It was in moments like these that he was thankful for his family's training, because though the torridness was excruciatingly painful, he could bear it. If he could bear the heat and pain of lightning, he could bear a fire.

(His skin would disagree, probably. It was starting to crack on his face. _His beautiful face_.)

Something moved in his En. Without waiting, he darted toward the source of the movement, the one hopeful figure standing in his En he had caught since he had jumped into this oven. He blindly recognized the staircase—the swirling form was an odd pattern in his En.

He erupted out of the burning ballroom with the urge to take a deep breath—but he didn't; the nen smokes were everywhere.

And he found someone. A large figure huddled by the staircase. Weak, but alive.

Hope surged through him. He stopped near the person, quickly bent down, and carried her. He recognized Olivia's plump figure, her little hands as she grabbed his shoulder and buried her face in his neck to hide from the fire.

He had found Olivia.

But he didn't have time to celebrate. He reactivated Godspeed at his feet and dashed out of the building, wincing as he passed through the wall of heat in the ballroom.

And when he came out of the building, when he emerged into cold wind and fresh air and light, he took a deep breath and finally slowed down.

"Olivia!" Faem shouted, running toward her.

Killua gently let her down. She was gasping for air, panting, with fresh tears falling off her eyes, but she was alive. And aside from light burn wounds, she wasn't wounded.

Faem dropped to his knees, grabbing her shoulders. "Liv, _Liv_ , are you okay? Are you—"

She rushed into his arms, sobbing in his neck. He pulled her in his embrace, eyes still wide in shock or perhaps disbelief. He was trembling, a sight Killua would never have thought to see. "I'm okay," Olivia babbled through her tears.

"Did you inhale it? Did you inhale the smokes?" Faem whispered in her ear, and Killua froze at the question. But Olivia just shook her head. Did Faem know Killua had heard? Did he care? Nothing seemed to reach him at this moment, except the fact that he had nearly lost his beloved wife and found her again. His entire body relaxed, the terror seizing his body finally evaporating. Until all that was left was his tired figure.

And Killua could relate. The thought that it could have been Hana trapped in that living hell, inhaling the smokes that had once nearly killed him… it filled him with grief.

Faem rose his eyes toward Killua then, and for a second, there was this recognition, this instant when they were no longer enemies but just two men surviving the same hell, caring and _fearing_ for their loved ones. And he uttered those two simple words, the most honest thing he had told Killua that whole night: "Thank you."

Killua nodded. The moment dissipated. He stood up, ignoring the pain on his feet.

"Killua!" Hana called him, taking long strides toward him. Concern was written all over her face—and he was the reason for that. He was expecting something along the lines of 'what were you thinking?' or 'you could have died!' but she didn't say any of that. "Come here, let me tend to your wounds," she said instead, pulling him away from Faem and his wife. He let her drag him through the gardens, with people mingling around, to the spot where she and Lenaic were treating the wounded. They didn't have much—just a bunch of first-aid kits and some medical hunters' ointments, but nothing to deal with all dozens of guests.

She sat him up, took a pot of ointment and dipped her fingertips in it. Then, she carefully applied the ointment on the burn wounds on his face. He winced slightly—the ointment was burning, and his wounds were oozing blood.

She didn't say anything, just quietly passed the ointment on his injuries, eyes flying over his face. He studied her, peered into her eyes, searched for anything behind her calm focus. And he found nothing. She was just like him—holding the tide, folding the waves before they came crashing down, just the time to function and act. They had all time to grieve later.

"Can you remove your shoes?" she asked. Only then, he remembered his soles had melted on his feet.

"… I'm gonna bleed, but I'll do it."

"Wait," another voice commanded.

Killua looked up toward the man who had spoken. Tall, dark, serious, dressed in a singed embroidered _salwar kameez_ that had surely known better days.

The President of the HCDS himself, Saif Hyderi. Though perhaps a less polished version of him, with disheveled hair and soot on his face.

He knelt to the ground. "We can minimize the pain. We need to cut the shoe away."

"Mr. President," Hana awkwardly greeted.

"Saif," he corrected her. "Get me something that can cut through leather."

"I've got something," Killua intervened. He extended his fingers, bones cracking and snapping until the claws were out. Saif just watched quietly while Hana widened her eyes—in surprise or amazement, he couldn't tell, but none felt appropriate.

With a few quick lashes of his claws, Killua cut through the leather of his oxfords, watching it peel away from his feet with regret. They were really nice shoes. He would miss them. Next time, he'd try to not bleed and have his skin melt on them.

"Quick and efficient," Saif breathed, pulling at the soles stuck on Killua's feet. Fortunately, they hadn't completely melted—they came off easily, though the result was not pretty.

Then, Saif focused his aura into his fingertips and let them hover near the wounds on Killua's feet. A cold, prickling sensation followed. The same the ointment had left, but more evasive, almost gaseous.

"It doesn't heal the wound completely, but it closes it. It's a bit of a quick fix-up. Avoids infections and other complications."

"Aren't there people who need that ability more than I do?" Killua argued. "I'll live. I'll just look ugly."

"Not even that," Saif deadpanned. "The others are being cared for. I've treated the worst cases." He settled dark eyes on Killua. "Besides, third-degree burns, even sparse, are not just _light wounds_."

Hana watched in wonder as the president moved to Killua's other foot, then his arms and chest, and finally his face. In a single minute, all his bleeding wounds and peeling skin had healed—all that was left were faint scars that would fade with time and a light pain that Killua could do with. "This is incredible," she said, touching the scar on Killua's cheek where a bloody wound used to be.

"Does look better. Thank me for saving your pretty face, boy," Saif added with a hint of a smile.

Slowly, Killua smiled back. He had wondered what kind of man was at the head of the HCDS, especially after finding out it was a highly hierarchic place fraught with rumors and dubious ties. But all he could see was a man with a blessing for a nen ability and a quiet humor that perfectly matched that serious composure. That, and the fact that he had been working relentlessly to treat the wounded.

Another man approached them, brooding and bleeding. With dark hair and a gaunt face and those infamous silver eyes Killua would recognize everywhere. Emre Nightowl, the vice-president, a cold sword next to the president.

"Saif," Nightowl called, and something odd rang in his low-pitched voice. Something like bad news. Horrible news.

"Emre, what did you find," Saif said as he looked up.

Nightowl shook his head slightly, looking away. "Zaynab… we found her. She didn't make it."

The wave crashed down on Saif for a moment Killua would never forget. The moment a father realized his child had died. He saw it all over the president's face—grief, pain, denial. Guilt. And the sinking realization that he had not said goodbye. That he had outlived the child he wanted to see grow.

It was even worse that this party had been thrown for Saif's daughter. For her engagement and her promotion.

All for that.

"Move!" a woman screamed, through the gardens. She was carrying a man. "I've found a survivor!"

Like a spell, Saif focused back on the task. He tucked the grief away, and through it was still ingrained in every single inch of his face, he swallowed it. "I'll see her later, Emre. Now I need to work." He turned toward the woman. "Bring him here!"

Killua moved away as Hana helped the woman settle the wounded hunter near Saif, whose eyes widened in recognition. Killua vaguely remembered the injured hunter as Zaynab's fiancé.

Saif tore the fiancé's shirt away to work around the wound.

Then they saw it, on his chest.

A crawling mass of noise-like texture. The same texture as that of the toxic smokes, slashing through his chest in uneven patterns.

"Twenty, twenty-one," the wounded hunter counted.

"David, what the hell is that?!" Saif exclaimed, his hand unsurely hovering near the wound. "How did he get this? How do I even treat this?"

"I don't know," the woman answered, voice wobbling. "I found him crawling out of the building. He hasn't talked, he's just… been counting."

"Dave, tell me, what happened?" Saif asked again, to the wounded man this time.

But the man kept counting, shaking his head through his pain.

Killua briefly touched the man's shoulder. "Hey, I'll count for you," he proposed, counting where David had left off _Thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four…_

David moaned in pain. "I don't know what happened. I just—I survived the explosion. I was looking for Zaynab. I—" More cries. He threw his head back, gasping for air, his hair sticking to his forehead. "Then this guy comes and just… punches me… next thing I know… I have this _thing_ on me," he struggled. His breath came out ragged, sputtered.

 _Forty, forty-one…_

"The one who caused all of this attacked you," Hana deduced.

"He attacked Zaynab too, I saw him," David bawled. "She had survived the explosion. I—"

"Shh, it's okay," Saif reassured, taking David's hand. "Why are you counting? Tell me."

"I don't know, Saif, I can feel myself die, I—"

"I won't let you too die," Saif fought.

David squeezed Saif's hand. "You can't do anything. It's a nen curse. You're not an exorcist Saif—"

Saif stood up. "Then bring me one! I need an exorcist, right now!" he shouted to the survivors.

 _Fifty, fifty-one, fifty-two…_

Hana squirmed as Saif left them, rummaging through the guests to find a nen exorcist. It was no longer his reason talking but his heart—to save his daughter's fiancé, to save at least someone during that painful night. If nen exorcists were that easy to come upon, they'd know.

Yet, Killua knew the feeling. He had lived it, when Gon had been plagued by his own curse. And though he had proposed to take the burden of counting this man's last seconds, he did hope he would make it. But it was impossible.

Hana leaned in. "Look, I can help you, I—" she started, voice no higher than a whisper, barely audible for David and Killua and herself. Killua's head perked up at the words, only to find her distraught and torn. He kept counting, but worry crept in his mind.

 _What was she saying?_

But she was cut off by David's hand grabbing her arm. "Don't. Don't show them, don't show _him_. I'm going to die. I know it. You can't save me."

"But—"

"Don't," David said through his gasps and his tears, taking Hana's hand. "You won't have enough time. And you mustn't show him. He's still out there. He did this on purpose. And if he knows—he'll end you. And all those you love. He'll _use_ you."

"Who will?" she whisper-shouted.

"Whoever did this to me."

 _Eighty-three, eighty-four…_

"Look—let me try, I can't just let you die and do nothing," she argued, looking around as she spoke.

"It's too late. I feel it, just—promise me you won't use it. You—you have to get away from me as soon as it happens."

"As soon as _what_ happens?" she pressed, pleading him to answer.

He didn't answer. He didn't need to. As soon as Killua counted up to ninety, David screamed and self-combusted, shrinking into a charcoal corpse. Hana covered her mouth, but Killua was already carrying her away from the fireless smoke rising from David's corpse.

It had taken ninety seconds for him to die.

* * *

 **Thursday, May 28th**

 **1:46 A.M.**

The aftermath was hard to bear. Once all the survivors had been cared for, the ill and the wounded and the few unscathed—physically only—, all that was left was the mourning. Mourning of the dead, fallen but never forgotten.

Killua scanned the back gardens around him, taking in the omnipresent destruction—or what remained of it. A few ambulances had arrived, taking the wounded to the hospital. The gazebo had been turned into a makeshift infirmary where hunter medics strived to soothe the pain of the ill—those who had survived the smokes curse as Killua once had. Nightowl was calling for more backup, when he wasn't providing light and examining the corpses with a few pathologist hunters—and two poison hunters, the only available ones. Saif, along with his wife, were hunched over the charred remains of their daughter and her fiancé.

And Hana was immobile, holding Lenaic's blazer around her shoulders, staring down. As she had been since David had died. Her dress was stained with soot and blood—though most of it wasn't her own. The whole time, she had helped tending wounds, had wiped blood and dabbed ointment on burns. Now that she wasn't working anymore, she, like a lot of hunters, was rocking through the wave she had tried to hold back the whole evening, the concealed emotions resurfacing. Pain and fear, grief and gloom. And that thick guilt on her face, solid in her eyes since David had died.

' _I can help you.'_

A lump lodged in his throat. Why did she feel this way? What did she mean when she said she could help David?

Without further questioning, he sidled up to her. She was set back from the scene, sitting on one of the few benches, watching Lenaic and a few other hunters try to control the fire that was still raging in the ballroom. She briefly caught his gaze when he came, managing a tiny small—one that was more heartbreaking than reassuring. He wanted to tell her she didn't have to smile, but instead he just gave her the same smile—perhaps that was what she needed.

"How are you feeling?" she asked before he could say anything, and he could have laughed—of sadness or frustration, your pick—that after all she was still worrying for him.

"I'm dandy," he joked, pointing at his chest. "My shirt burnt at the _perfect_ places. I look great with my nipples poking out."

She chortled, and it sounded genuine but tired. "You're incredible."

He knelt next to her, taking her folded hands between his, allowed himself to rest a moment, the time to kiss the back of her fingers and exhale. Then, he looked up, searched for her eyes. "Hana, what's wrong?"

She held his gaze. Her determination had burnt off. Now, her gaze was a little glassy, a little sad. "I'm okay," she tried. Again, she smiled a little. "I'm not the one who ran into an oven to save a lady."

"I'm such a hero." But the lump was still there, in his throat, the more he stared at this blatant sorrow on her face that she tried to cover up with light humor. "You can talk to me, Hana. If something happened—if you saw, or heard, or felt something. If you're hurt anywhere—physically or not."

She shook her head. "Not now, or here," she said under her breath, gaze low, wild strands of hair covering her face. "Right now, I just need a hug."

He stood up, then sat next to her and pulled her in an embrace, laying his lips on her temple in muffled kisses. And he just held her while she buried her face in his neck and sighed and stayed this way, immobile. Around them, a few guests still standing kept mingling around, consoling the people in mourning the best they could. Others just did like them—sit in silence, hold each other.

Meanwhile, hunters still worked, using their nen abilities the best they could. One enhancer was working through the debris, carrying the rubble that had collapsed in the back gardens. A conjurer was creating invisible walls around the estate with his ability 'Mime'—Killua knew because the guy had spent a good fifteen minutes trying to impress him during the party, only to fail—to control the flow of the toxic smokes. Natsu, an emitter, was projecting her aura through the ground, letting it carry the corpses out of the ballroom on 'waves' of her aura before they completely burnt—for further identification, if that was even possible. And Lenaic was apparently some sort of water-bender, which wasn't all that bad when there was a raging fire, but he couldn't possible extinguish it alone. Killua wasn't an expert in nen, but he did know that judging from the drought in the grass around Lenaic, that water wasn't coming from nowhere. And there wasn't enough water around them to put out the fire.

"Allan, I'm gonna need help," Lenaic called, and Killua fixed his gaze on Fox as he sidled up to Lenaic. "I can't take care of the fire alone. And those… those nen smokes, they won't go away."

Killua was curious to see how Fox could help. He had never seen Allan's ability up close.

"I'll do my best," Allan replied. "But I can't take care of both the fire and the smokes at the same time."

"First the fire," Natsu chimed in. "Then you remove the smokes.

 _How?_

"Watch," Hana said in a low voice. "Allan's ability is amazing."

So Killua focused. With a flick of Fox's wrist, four marbles appeared between his fingers. Red, blue, white, and green. With another flick, only the blue remained. Fox flipped the marble up, and it glowed for an instant before a nen beast popped out of it—a mermaid with hair that undulated around her and gills in her neck and glowing teal eyes. She flapped her fins, staring at her master with curious eyes. "Aquea, help Lenaic put out the fire," Fox ordered.

A jar appeared on her shoulder, water pouring out of it in a torrent. With one arm, she locked the jar between her head and her shoulder, while Allan directed the flow of water into the room, arms extended in front of him.

Killua widened his eyes. "This has to be costing," he breathed. "Does each marble represent an element?"

She broke the embrace but didn't let go of his hand. "Yeah." She kept her voice down, just as he did, paranoid that the assailant could still be in the surroundings. Even though the whole estate, or what wasn't infected, had been combed for his presence.

He stared at the blue mermaid. "Someone's a fan of Pokémon," he joked.

She smiled. "Wait to see Aera."

Killua focused aura in his eyes. _Gyo_. He narrowed his eyes, examining the aura flowing around Fox—and decreasing. "He's losing energy," he noted. The ability fed on him. His aura, his energy.

She nodded slightly. "He needs to recharge every now and then."

"I bet he does," Killua commented, eyes not leaving the wonder floating above Fox's head. A personification of an element, made by Fox himself. In barely a few minutes, with the efforts combined of Allan's Aquea and Lenaic's ability, who helped Allan direct the water in certain places, the fire was out in the whole gigantic building.

Fox stumbled on his feet when Aquea disappeared—back into her marble. Natsu caught him before he fell. "You need to rest," she said.

Killua didn't hear what Fox replied, but he looked confident through his exhaustion. He repeated the same process—summoning the marbles, choosing one, calling the nen-beast. It was the white marble this time, and a little airy creature came out, with dark skin and cloudy white hair and glowing white eyes. "Aera, get rid of the smokes."

Aera, the air nen-beast, exhaled, then sucked in all the smokes from the building while Fox stood to provide for her energy. The black smokes flowed, inhaled by Aera, while the mime conjurer contained the glass walls so that they did not pour out of the other entrances.

Killua watched, a little mesmerized, the air nen beast absorb the smokes like they were nothing. But Fox was weakening, and he could only hold this much. As soon as the last drop of smoke was inhaled by his nen beast, he collapsed in Natsu's arms, unconscious.

Hana jumped out of her seat when he did, Killua at her heels, just as Aera popped out into thin air, dropping in a tiny white marble that Lenaic caught before it rolled away. She sank to her knees near Fox, calling his name with her mother until he opened glassy eyes.

"You did great," Hana said, and he smiled feverishly.

Natsu pushed the white marble into his hand. "Conceal it," she said between her teeth. He seemed lost for a moment, but when he closed his fingers around his marble, he called it back to himself and it disappeared.

Then, he fainted.

"So this is why he didn't do that from the start," Nightowl mused, studying Fox with an inquisitive—though dark—gaze.

Natsu glared at him. "It's obviously costing. Have you seen the size of that building?"

"No need to be aggressive, Agent Torana." He stared down at her. "I am not reproaching anything. His efforts were necessary with us the whole night. It was wise to leave that task to the end if it was going to cost him that much."

Natsu relaxed then. "The fire was contained anyway. It wasn't spreading anywhere."

Nightowl's gaze went to Hana. "I'm sorry your reunion ended that way," he briefly said, and her face hardened. Then, he turned back toward Natsu. "I'd like you to investigate the matter, Agent Torana. Along with Agent Thalassis. Starting from tomorrow. Whoever did this mustn't get away with it."

"Let them rest tomorrow," Saif chimed in. His eyes were empty. "They worked hard. I suggest you get checked in tomorrow to make sure nothing… nasty, took hold of you." He then stared at Nightowl in the eye. "I'll take the case myself."

"Saif—I know what this means to you. With Zaynab—"

The president didn't waver. "Emre, I will take the case and you will continue working on the Whisper's case. Agent Torana is busy with the child trafficking cases, and I have a personal matter to settle with whoever did—" he gestured toward the whole building, the rubbles and the wounded and the corpses, _his daughter's corpse_. "—this."

Nightowl simply nodded. He seemed almost pained—the president's voice was thick with hatred, and though the fire had been put out, wrath still burned in his eyes. For his daughter.

"Call everyone off. Let everyone rest. You too, Emre, should rest," Saif furthered. "We need to process what just happened."

Nightowl left with that, transferring the president's orders around them. Lenaic helped Natsu carry Fox away. And Saif stayed with them. Hana and Killua.

"Thank you for staying with David till the end," he said, his gaze switching from her to him. Again, that same flicker of guilt flashed in Hana's eyes. Killua didn't miss it, as discreet as it was. Worry gripped his gut at the sight.

"It's nothing," he answered, crossing Hana's thankful gaze. "Saif, you need to know David wasn't counting for nothing. He died in ninety seconds—can't be a coincidence."

Saif frowned. "I agree. He did say he… felt himself dying." He exhaled sharply. "You heard me earlier, I will personally work on catching that individual. So I will need all the evidence I can get—those ninety seconds could prove an important hint."

Hana nodded, but she didn't say anything more. Neither did Killua. Nothing about Robert Mulgrad, or Ziam Torana, or Killua surviving once. Nothing without discussing it first. There was no way they could tell the president of the HCDS that his best benefactor was buddies with his daughter's killer, not before weighing the cons. Especially when said killer had also in a way nearly killed his buddy's wife.

They couldn't risk any information getting out. They couldn't afford to—not when Gayan himself, in his letter to Penelope, had warned her to be wary of the HCDS. Even if Saif was trustworthy, there was no saying who he could be associated with. And if anyone ill-intentioned knew that Hana and Killua were behind this—that Hana had the _comb_ —the smokes nen user would strike again. With or without Faem's order, it wouldn't matter, since Faem had so little value to him.

And this time they wouldn't come out of it unscathed.

"We'll report to you what happened tonight—if there is anything we noticed that could help you," Hana announced.

"Please do." He patted her shoulder, then Killua's. "Now go rest. You've worked hard enough for tonight. Even hunters need to grieve."

And Saif walked away. Killua watched him, shoulders drooping, join his wife and wrap an arm around her shoulders, resting his head on hers. He looked away from the couple. Saif's grief was private; it wasn't Killua's place to breach it.

So instead, he turned toward Hana, placing his hands on her arms. "You wanna go home?"

She slowly nodded, silent.

And so, they did just that. After seeing Natsu and checking on Allan, they both quietly left the scene.

There was nothing more they could do to help.

* * *

They took a cab to go home. If Killua hadn't been so concerned about Hana's odd behavior, he would have laughed at the face of the driver when he saw two bloody young adults with torn clothes (and no shoes in his case) asking for a ride.

(Especially with Killua's nipples poking out of the holes in his shirt.)

But the thing was, Hana hadn't said a word since they had left the crime scene, and she stayed silent the whole ride home. Staring at her folded hands on her lap, always. Quietly taking his hand and keeping to herself.

Occasionally, the taxi driver would check in his rear-view mirror while asking them some questions. 'So, had a rough night, heh?' 'Did your shirt come like this?' 'You sure you don't wanna go to a hospital instead man?' Killua couldn't tell if he was genuinely worried they'd die in his car or just inconvenienced by the blood he'd have to clean. Or perhaps he was worried they wouldn't pay him. Killua would just absent-mindedly answer the questions, all the while holding Hana's hand.

His worry didn't wilt the littlest bit when they got home. Her gaze was still confused, her movements uncoordinated. Like she was lost in thought. He followed her into her bedroom, watching her with concern as she wordlessly removed her jewels and the hairpins in her bun, until her hair came loose. Her entire composure evoked torment.

"Hana—"

"Help me remove my dress," she asked, giving him her back, pushing her hair over her shoulder.

He exhaled, sidling up to her. He slowly unzipped her dress then, pink fabric giving in to golden skin. The slit in her back grew until he reached her lower back, the base of her spine. For an instant, he forgot everything, gently glided the back of his fingers on the sliver of skin revealed, relishing in the sensation against his skin. The heat of her skin, the delicateness of it. The bump of every vertebrae, of any muscle.

With infinite care, he placed his hands on her shoulders, his breath hitching ever so slightly as the dress slid off her body. And he pressed his lips on her nape as she sighed and nuzzled into his arms. He wrapped his arms around her, brought her close, closer. And buried his face in her neck.

She was silent, resting her back to his chest and stroking his hand with her thumb. And they stayed this way in their bundle of warmth for a few long minutes. Two bruised dancers in torn costumes, muscles seething from the effort, minds racing from the shock. Still catching up, because it was all they could do, with the things they had seen and heard and done and felt. People falling, screaming, dying. Spilled blood, spilled tears. Columns of smoke, fireless smoke. Hunters cooperating to save what could be saved. To choke the fire and chase the curse away.

And him. The fear ringing in his head, the whole time, knowing that the smoke nen user was among them. That he had seen Hana. That if he hadn't reacted fast, she could be yet another corpse in the pile of charred bodies they had gathered.

He tightened his embrace, frowning in her neck.

He couldn't bear the thought.

"It's so hard to process," she finally broke the silence. They didn't move from their position. "One minute we're having fun, the other we're… counting corpses."

"It happened fast," was the one lame thing he could think of. "We had to take action."

They broke the embrace. She stepped away from her torn dress, her bloodied armor, and picked it up. His eyes fell on her lace bra, the intricate patterns woven on her breasts. He hadn't expected his first time seeing her in nothing but undergarments to go like… this.

"I liked that dress," she mumbled, still eyeing the dirty garment with dubious eyes.

"And I liked that shirt." He shrugged. "And those shoes."

She smiled weakly, then moved to the bathroom. He followed her.

"Hana, what's wrong?" he asked her.

She took her makeup remover, applied it on a cotton disc, and started removing her foundation. "Why do you ask?"

He sighed. "You've been acting weird since David died."

She lingered on her eye, added more makeup remover—was she battling her eyeliner? —and resumed her work. "I've got a lot on my mind…"

"And I'm here to listen to what you've got on your mind. I'm worried, Hana. It's normal to be shocked after what happened, but… you look like you regret something. And you said… some things that confused me."

She washed her face, then took a clean towel and dabbed it on her wet face. Then, she put it away, and stayed immobile, her back to him. "I don't know what you would think of me if I told you."

"Try me," he said, though her avoidance was leaving him more distraught.

She tensed. Her hand went to her scar, shoulders sinking, the way she did when she was becoming self-conscious. Anxiety shot through his head for a second, thinking that he might have hurt her, that he was overstepping her boundaries. But he ignored it, staying calm for her sake. "Hana," he called, walking toward her. When she turned around, he put his hands on her shoulder, hoping the warm contact would reassure her. "Take a shower. Wash it all away—the party, the attack, the deaths. I'll do the same, at my place. Then, come to my place, I'll prepare something warm. Okay?"

Relief shone through her eyes. "Okay."

"And just know, I will never think of you as a bad person, if that's what you think. Unless you hid a golden chocorobot from me, which you can't because I feel chocorobots in my _soul_. Then I'd think you're a _horrible_ person."

She laughed quietly, but genuinely. "I would never hide a chocobot from you."

He cracked a warm smile. "Then we're all good." He tilted his head, laying a tender kiss on her lips. Breathing in her presence. "So don't worry about that. Okay?" he murmured against her lips.

She nodded, eyes still closed, and closed the small space between them. And she cupped his face, palms on his cheeks, lingering for a long moment. His hands went to her waist, holding her body against his while he let the soft pleasure of the kiss dilute his tension. The warmth spreading in his body. The clouds in his head. The sparks tingling on his skin. And that simple joy, to love and be loved and kiss her like they were the only ones in the world. He hadn't realized just how much he needed this kiss, how much his sore body had longed for her tenderness.

"I'll be quick," she breathed, clinging to his shirt, as though she didn't want him to go.

But she let go.

He returned to his apartment then. Threw out his torn clothes, got into the shower. Let warm water wash some sense in his foggy head, wash the soot and the blood all over him. He would watch them spiral away in the siphon with the shampoo and the shower gel, as though the whole night could be sucked in that siphon. His burn wounds didn't smart under the water, since Saif had healed them, but they were still numb, remotely painful.

He winced as he stretched his neck, massaging a sore spot on his trapezius. The warm water helped, but he still felt rusty after that night. He needed to recharge his electricity soon.

He stopped the water, got out of the shower, and dried himself. He tied a towel around his soaked hair and wore some boxers. Then, he sat on his bed, waiting for Hana to ring.

In the meantime, he took his phone. Gon had sent him a message four hours ago. 'How's the party?' it said.

With a weary smile, Killua replied. 'Amazing. At least 30 people died, I got third degree burns, nothing makes sense anymore, and my favorite shirt is torn away. Also the food sucked.' He put his phone away. Gon had to be sleeping. The time difference between Megamshill and Tanalea was over three hours. If anything, he'd wake up soon.

His doorbell rang.

He jumped to his feet, throwing away the towel on his head but not bothering to put on pants, to open the entrance door. There she was, in one of her funny flowy tee-shirts (it said ' _2 kool 4 u'_ , an embarrassment in and of itself) and striped pants. "Hey," she said—and her gaze went down to his lack of pants.

He locked the door once she was in. "Hey there." He turned around. She had removed her pants, and was currently neatly folding them. "Oh," was all he could say. There was a tiny pink ribbon near the hem of her panties. _A pink ribbon._

"Well, since we're on an underwear basis."

"I'm not complaining," he joked, smirking.

"Neither am I."

He served her a cup of chamomile infusion, then led her to his bedroom where they sat on the bed without speaking. He wasn't sure how to bring up the topic without ruining whatever semblance of peace she had found after her shower.

But he needed to know what was troubling her.

"Feeling better?" he started slow.

She sipped on her infusion. "Yeah, kinda." She put the mug on the bedside table. "I'm ready to talk," she announced.

As per usual, he took her hand. Whenever she was about to spill her feelings, she needed an anchor, and he always tried to give her that. "I'm here."

She inhaled deep. "Remember when David said he had been cursed? When Saif was… desperately looking for a nen exorcist?"

He remembered all too well. "Yeah?"

She squirmed again, fumbling. He squeezed her hand, showing her he was still here, still caring for her. "I… I hesitated too much. I was so torn because… there was a chance I could save him."

"What do you mean?" Again, that same distress seized her. He moved on the bed so he could face her, still holding her hand. Somehow, he already knew what she would say next, but he needed her to say it out loud, to admit it—to _share_ her burden. "Hana?"

She took a deep breath. "I'm a nen exorcist, Killua. I'm the one in thousands, the _miracle_ Saif needed—and I didn't help him."

He widened his eyes. Even though he had guessed it, hearing her say it was surreal. She was what the Phantom Troup had sought for months to save their head from Kurapika's chains. She was what _he_ had sought so desperately to free Gon from his own misery. She was the blessing to all these curses, the medicine to the incurable.

"I'll understand if you think I'm horrible," she blurted out, voice wobbling.

He flinched. "Why would I think that?"

"Because I—I didn't save David. I could have tried, but… I hesitated. I hesitated too much, and then it was too late. And I know he told me not to try, but still, I keep thinking there was a chance, even an _infinitesimal_ one, that I could save him, and that I should have taken on that chance and just fucking erased that curse—"

"Hana, it's okay," he shushed, stroking her cheek while she babbled her confessions. "I wasn't thinking you were horrible. More like the contrary. I was thinking you never ceased to amaze me." He tipped her chin up, forcing her to look him in the eye. "It was too late for David. The moment we realized we needed a nen exorcist, he was already doomed. Besides, he said so himself: the attacker was still watching. If he had learnt about your ability, you'd be doomed. You and all those around you." He put his hand on top of hers. "You did what was safe to do."

She shook her head. "I was only thinking about myself. I was just scared."

"Of?"

"Of failing."

He frowned. "I don't understand."

She cracked a wry smile. "I may be a nen exorcist, but I'm a lousy one. My ability is unstable—it's got more chances to backfire than properly do its job." Sae appeared right by her side. Killua read the usual lineup of letters on it.

 **Which mode would you like to use?**

 **1\. S**

 **2\. A**

 **3\. E**

He skimmed through the letters. "'S' for Shooter, 'A' for Analyzer," he thought aloud, then looked at her. "'E' for Exorcist?" he dubiously tried.

She managed a smile. "Eraser. It's the most unstable mode. In theory, it transfers the nen curse to another living thing, and when there is no living thing to plague, it's supposed to turn the curse into a nen beast of equal importance."

"In theory," he repeated. "But in practice?"

She pursed her lips. "In practice, it works less than two times out of five and burns half of my arm. When I'm lucky," she informed, showing the inside of her right arm. Some faints patterns wove a thread of faded scars. She concealed Sae away. "I've only succeeded once with the Eraser mode. Feri had been hit with a minor nen curse, something that was more annoying than dangerous, so I tried to help him—the risks were minimized, since there was no death threat. It was painful for me, but I managed to heal him. Ever since, I've only used it once on another person—never after."

"Why not?" he inquired, but regretted it when her face fell. "You don't have to answer that."

"I'm okay." She looked away. "I've stopped working on the Eraser mode since I…" She paused. He stroked her hand with his thumb, gentle. She exhaled. "I once failed to help someone with it, and that person died."

"Backfired?"

She nodded. "Two years ago. It was a victim—a woman. A wanted criminal had cast a nasty curse on her. And he killed himself before I caught him—so he couldn't undo the curse. She didn't have a lot of time left, so I thought, I _thought_ I could help her." Her jaw was set. "But the curse was too strong. I couldn't erase it. Sae broke in the middle of the exorcism—and the erased curse returned to the victim." She gulped. "She begged me to kill her then. And I did. I still don't know if what pushed her over the edge was the curse of my failure to help. I keep thinking I made things worse," she confessed, her voice dying in a whisper. Her face was grim, solemn even. "I tell myself she'd have died anyway, that she wouldn't lose anything if I tried, but I made her death more painful—and it haunted me, for so long. First the Whisper, then that…"

"Shh. You tried, that's what counts. You tried to do the impossible—you can't blame yourself for it."

She shrugged. "My dad helped me get over it. He says you get used to it, like when you're a doctor and you fail to save a patient." She looked at him. "But that's also why I hesitated to hep David. I was afraid of the responsibility—if I failed to save him, and he died on me. I haven't used the Eraser since my last try; for a curse this strong, for all I know, it could have backfired pretty bad."

"You just gave yourself perfectly valid reasons to _not_ use the Eraser on David. So why do you feel guilty?"

"Because if there was even a chance—"

"In thirty, roughly forty seconds? With an unstable ability you haven't used in two years and an attacker watching you? And dangerous risks of backfiring that could _kill you_?" She stayed silent. He sighed. "Don't beat yourself over it. You don't have to risk everything you have for a stranger who was bound to die. What you did wasn't selfish—it was reasonable, _sensible_. Nothing worked in your favor."

"But… I don't know. I feel like a coward."

He caught her eyes. "Okay, let's put it this way: you're a nurse. The hospital is on fire. One person is trapped in the hospital. That person was stabbed and is dying quickly. Then there's… there's a _bomb_ in the hospital. It will go off any second, and you don't have a lot of time. In the building, there are, uh, I don't know, two ways that lead to the stabbed patient. One is filled with hundreds of… deadly lava crocodiles with spider eyes. _Spider eyes_. The other way has... a trigger. That will make the bomb go off in, say, 95% of the time." He looked her in the eye. "Do you go in that fucking building?"

"… No?"

"Good. That's exactly what happened tonight. You had more chances to kill him _and_ yourself than save him. And the attacker would have known you're a nen exorcist, and he would have made your life hell." He put his hand on her thigh. "Sometimes it's not about taking the best decision. It's about choosing the least damaging. And that's what you did." He searched for her eyes. "I wouldn't have saved Olivia if there was even a little chance I could die. I knew I would survive. You have to put your life first—saving everyone is impossible, especially at the extent of your own life. There's a difference between being brave and being a complete foolish idiot. And you know that difference. Valuing your own life is never selfish. It's what you owe to yourself."

She didn't reply. Instead, she finished her infusion and plopped down on the bed. He stifled yet another sigh and lay down next to her, afraid that he had been too harsh. He could use some tact, sometimes.

But she nuzzled close to him. "Thank you," she simply said. "I feel better."

He kissed her forehead for an answer. Natsu wasn't wrong when she said her daughter was a loyal idiot. "You have some serious guilt issues."

"Hmph."

Silence fell. She wasn't sleeping—he felt her eyelashes tickle him when she blinked—and neither was he. He just caressed her back in the circular movements that always soothed her.

"Killua?" she called then, voice muffled.

"Hm?"

"You know, that building in your example?"

"What about it?"

"For you, I'd do it. I'd go in that building. I don't care if it makes me a foolish idiot."

His breath hitched. Her voice was dead serious and his heart wasn't behaving. "Then I'd kick your ass if you manage to save me."

"Kick all you want, but I'd do it. I'd fight those lava crocodiles for you. I'm not scared of spiders."

He kissed her. "And I'd marathon bad cheesy movies for you, which is about the same."

She narrowed her eyes. "Did you just call Disneys 'bad cheesy movies'?"

"What if I did?"

"I feel so betrayed. You know what? I think I'll let you burn in that building in the end."

He laughed. "You're unbelievable."

"And you're a traitor."

"Hmm." More kisses, more breathless laughs. "Sleep, Hana."

"Hmph."

He waited two minutes—the longest she could stay without talking. And sure enough, two minutes later, she started talking again. "You really disliked those movies?"

"If I disliked them I wouldn't be watching them, moron."

"Oh. Which one's your favorite then?"

"Hana, sleep."

"Okay." Two minutes. "But—"

" _Hana_."

"Okay."

She fell asleep in the end. Quite fast, actually. She had been through a lot that night.

But he couldn't sleep just yet. His mind was going overdrive with everything that had happened—the smokes nen user attacking them and betraying Faem, the strange meeting with the President of the HCDS, the fact that Hana was a nen exorcist with an unstable ability.

And her words. _'I'd go in that building for you.'_

He buried his face in her hair, shutting his eyes closed. Moved to the core by such a genuine confession, but terrified by its cruel implication, by its simple brutality.

All he could hope was that she would never have to do that for him.

Never.

* * *

 **A/N** : Yay, you finally know what the 'E' mode does! I actually think some of you guessed it right. You're so brilliant, I love you :')

Anyway, Saif is an OC I've had in mind for a long time. A friend once showed me _salwar kameez_ and the moment I saw it, I thought the president of the HCDS had to wear one. (what do you mean I made an OC just to make him wear some clothes? I mean I did yeah but what?)

And that building in Killua's example was completely random but in the end it became quite important. Keep it in mind because I might as well make some references to that in the future… :D

I really liked writing this chapter, especially since it's a big twist for Hana. Also puts things in perspective. What do you mean, I'm mean even to my villains? That's because I'm the ultimate villain.

Okay, **what did you think about this chapter?** What was your favorite moment? What do you think about Hana's ability? I'm really curious to hear your theories! (Also I love reviews a lot :D :D *winks*)

Next chapter is called **Cleansed** and it's a lot calmer lol. It does bring some answers but especially more questions. Also it introduces two new OCs: one bad, and one lovely (see a preview below for the lovely OC lol). Oh and… there's a hot moment. More daring than anything I've written yet, but not The Moment yet (just wait for that… soon…).

I'll see you in two weeks for another chapter! Until then, stay awesome ;)

Bye!

* * *

" _The HCDS has a lot of assholes but a lot of people really cared about you. Remember Jackson? Jackson King?"_

 _She pictured the tall man with his dark skin, shaved head, and ever-present smirk. "Nobody could forget Jack."_

" _Every time he sees me, he asks how you are," she informed while Hana widened her eyes. "And Valencie? From our training classes when we were apprentices?"_

" _Valencie hated me!" Hana argued. "All she did was criticize me when we trained together."_

" _Believe it or not, she never trained with us again after you were gone. I heard her tell the Fighting Techniques teacher you were the only one she liked fighting with."_

 _Hana looked away. "I didn't know."_

" _Now you do. There will always be people who hate you or make fun of you, but they suck. We miss you, people you barely suspect. Ana and Vivi, constantly remembering the lame puns you used to make to make them laugh, when they were new and shy. Ayen was bragging to his buddies last time about knowing you, when they were talking about you being at the party. And even Tala, she told Ophee and me that she missed having you as a student."_

 _A shy smile was all Hana could manage. "I really had no idea…"_

" _Because you're not looking," Noor said with a smile._

 _Without thinking, Hana pulled Noor into a hug. "Thank you so much, Noor."_

 _Noor hugged her back—all the while laughing. "You're crushing me with your boobs!"_

 _Hana pulled back with a blush and a laugh. "Oops. Sorry. I forget you're so tiny, sometimes."_

" _I'm not complaining," Noor joked. "Don't tell my girlfriend though."_


	28. Cleansed

**A/N** : Hi guys! How have you been? I almost forgot it was update day today (or well, I'm a day early, but that's because I want to update on March 30th for the next chapter). I have a lot on my mind lately (but not necessarily in a bad way). Also for those I owe replies to, I promise I'll get to them asap!

Anyway, on the news side, **I finished writing both chapters 28 and 29**. You're gonna love them lmao.

Also, you should check my profile page because the story got more lovely art! **My good friend OooodlesOfNooodles drew the most adorable and pretty Hana** (I FREAKED OUT ABOUT IT FOR LIKE HALF AN HOUR I LOVE IT SO MUCH!) **AND a beautiful abstract art for the Whisper**! *sheds tear* I'm so happy my homicidal son got fanart ;A; THANK YOU SO MUCH MY FRIEND! It means so much to me!

Also, I commissioned Bibinella (whose art I love) to draw Hana, and the result is fantastic! All the links are on my profile (you'll notice a little 'NEW!' next to anything, well, new). I've added links to all the excerpts for future chapters, too. Check it out if you want a preview.

Anyway, thank you all for your continuous support, your beautiful reviews (you reviewers rock my world), and **thank you for 100 follows**! God I'm so hyped! it made me so freaking happy! I wouldn't be there if it weren't for you guys :')

Now before you dig in, let me just put **a slight warning** : the chapter contains **some explicit language, and some hot content** (no, not smut lol). If that kind of stuff makes you uncomfortable, skip the end of the first scene (though I don't know how you're still reading this story if you don't like sex-related stuff).

Now dig in! And tell me what you think ;)

* * *

Chapter 27: **Cleansed**

* * *

 **9:02 A.M.**

Lately, for Hana, there were three things that were worth waking up for: the sun, pancakes, and Killua.

It changed a lot from soot, blood, and smoke, which was what her previous night had consisted of. She was still thinking about David's death, about the building in Killua's example, and her inaction. And though Killua was right, there was always the lingering thought that _perhaps_ she could have saved him.

But at least, there was no more guilt.

She was chewing on a mouthful of pancakes when Killua drew the curtain, letting a sliver of sunlight fall on the floor. It caught his eyes for a moment—during which they were pure crystal, shimmering with the translucence of sunlit ice.

(She could be so… _uncharacteristically_ poetic when it came to him.)

"Here you go, your majesty," he said as he gestured to the modicum line of sun on the floor. "Your sun."

"This is what you call letting the sun in?"

He sat on the bed and took his plate full of pancakes. "You're gonna have plenty of sun to bath in later. Let me have my last moments of peace."

"You don't like the sun?"

"Please, I look like Jack Frost. I once nearly caused a car crash because I reflected the sun too much."

"Are you sure the driver wasn't just blinded by your hotness?"

He shrugged. "Could be," he agreed.

She giggled and reached for his hair, ruffling it softly. "You're exaggerating. You look like an angel in sunlight."

He blinked, pink tinting his cheeks. "That's cheesy," he said. And he smiled. "I like it."

She caressed his cheek. "Of course you do." She then resumed eating, taking another pancake from the plate in the middle of the tray and putting it on her own plate. She moved slightly, balancing the plate on her folded legs. "How did you know I liked breakfast in bed?"

"You mentioned it once."

"And you remembered," she mused.

"I actually listen to you when you talk," he deadpanned. "Incredible, right?"

"You like to pretend you're mean but you're so adorable, Killua."

"'Course I am." He glanced at the time. "You wanna go jogging after breakfast?" he asked.

She added more maple syrup to her pancake. "Depends. Will you be wearing the type of sports-tights that hug your ass?"

"Only if you're wearing the same."

"Okay, that's settled then. Nothing better than watching your ass to start the day."

"Not even pancakes."

She scrunched her nose. "I'll take your ass over pancakes anytime."

He laughed. "Highest of praise."

They kept chatting as they finished eating breakfast, lulled by the easy conversations and ridiculous jokes that animated their routines. Truth was, routine didn't feel so bad when it involved someone you loved—and whose ass was as uplifting as Killua's.

She helped him clean then. He removed the tray while she did the little dishes left, and he tidied up the kitchen. When he was done, she wrapped her arms around his waist and laughed against his lips, hands grabbing his backside while he nibbled on her lips.

And then, well, obviously, she led him back to the room to taste more of that raspberry jam on his lips, making the most of that moment with him before they had to go out.

"I can't believe there was a time when I couldn't kiss you," she said when they stopped making out.

"Technically, you always could."

"Shut up. You know I couldn't." She pressed her lips to his, lingering for a delicious moment, feeling the moment in its purest form. She sighed in pleasure, eyes still closed, lips brushing his. And she smiled. "I can't get used to it. It feels so good."

His hands snuck around her waist, grabbing her at the places that felt best—right on the hips, pressing delightfully. And he closed the small space between them, kissing her slowly, languidly. It was torturously intense, yet so delicate. Like everything he did—strength and grace and passion. "You're gonna have to get used to it," he said between two kisses. "'Cause I don't plan on stopping anytime soon."

She chuckled. "So much has changed between us—in the best way. I can kiss you," she said, brushing his lips, trailing his jaw, diving in his neck, brushing the hickey she had left there. Fingertips feeling every bump—jaw, clavicle, the stitch of his tee-shirt. "I can touch you in ways I couldn't. I can—" Her eyes bore into his, hypnotized by his gaze, by all the things she saw in it. Focus, expectation—hunger. "I can—" She stopped on his stomach, eyes stuck in his. And blinked. "… Okay, I don't know if I can touch your abs without dying yet."

He arched an eyebrow. "You still think you'd self-combust? Your hands were all over me yesterday. You never complained."

"I wasn't focused into… into the sensation!"

He shot her a cheeky look. "You wanna try?" She vivaciously nodded, which made him laugh. "Alright, ma'am," he breathed as he took off his shirt, put it aside on the bed, and plopped down on the pillow. His hand briefly gestured at himself while she devoured the ridges of his body. "Here you go. Feel free to experiment."

She blinked, widening her eyes—and ultimately grinned, of course. Obviously. She slowly, _carefully_ drew one finger close to his stomach. Ever so slowly.

Then, she touched his abs. With the tip of her finger.

And she emitted a strangled noise, pretending to collapse on the bed after sputtering a mouthful of ungraceful noises. "Dead."

He burst out laughing. "Dammit! Warn me before you decide to be a moron!"

She laughed along as she repositioned herself—straddling him, his hips between her thighs. "Okay, I'm ready." She exhaled sharply.

"You can do it. I believe in you."

She scooted closer, laying her palm on his abs, relishing in the feeling of his skin under her hand. Warm, soft, but so firm. She traced the lines between his abs, memorizing the imprint of his muscles on her palm. "Where were you all my life," she said (to the abs).

"Don't ditch me for my abs."

"You heard something?" she asked (the abs). "Yeah, me neither."

He cupped her face and kissed her so _good,_ tongue stroking hers in a spine-tingling moment, she forgot his abs and her name and pretty much everything until she realized, a nebulous brain and a bunch of fired-up hormones later, that his mouth wasn't on hers anymore. Her eyes fluttered open. "And now," he started, his hands still around her face, his thumb brushing her lower lip. "You heard something?"

She gave a dizzy smile. "I don't know. I'm not sure. I might need you to do more of that to be sure."

He chortled and happily obliged, kissing and kissing her again until she flopped on him and they couldn't stop laughing and making out.

(Her hands didn't leave his abs.)

At some point during their spontaneous making-out session, she briefly stopped kissing him to flash a wolfish smile. "Remember what I told you yesterday?"

"What?"

She took his hands, led them under her shirt. Her gaze never leaving his eyes as she moved, watching for the slightest reaction on his face, focused on the feel of his skin on her skin. Confusion faded into understanding—his hands on her waist—, understanding into desire—right under her breasts.

And then there was nothing but want. His breath picked up, hot on her mouth when she resumed kissing him. She let go of his hands, let him finish what she had started, and a jolt flashed through her when his palms were on her breasts, pressing and caressing and begging for more. He moaned softly against her mouth—deepened the kiss—hotter, harsher, reckless. An exhilarating jolt sliced through her, stirring aching pleasure as he grazed the tip of her breasts—slow circles, soft touch, hot hands, silk skin. Her brain shut down, nerves rewired to focus on the pleasure, cameos of light and feelings blurring her thoughts. The small flinches of her body when he caressed her. The sensual stroke of his thumb against the tip of her breasts. The toe-curling feel of his palms closing on her breasts, leaving her heady and a little drunk. Drunk with him, drunk with the things he did to her, drunk with the galvanizing pull that brought her desperately closer to him.

But never close enough.

She heard a small whimper at some point, then only realized it was hers when he stopped, breathless, and stared at her.

"Did you just _whimper_?" he asked.

It took her a few seconds to process the question. Part of her just wanted to bend and keep kissing him, kissing him dumb and senseless. But then, she understood his question. And her cheeks burned with embarrassment. "No," she lied. "Wasn't me."

"Who was it then?" he pressed—the question or her breasts, your pick.

"It was… Horny Hana. I'm not responsible for anything she says."

"I like her. Tell her to make more of that sexy noise for me."

She laughed—a hoarse, breathless laugh. "If you keep touching my boobs like that, you'll hear plenty of her."

He smirked—his thumb didn't stop, small circular movements around her nipples. Teasing her like he knew best. "Say, how loud are you in bed?"

More of that wolfish grin of hers. "Why don't you find out?"

"I wish," he said, and looked at the little clock on her bedside table. "But I have a meeting this afternoon. So we'll have to raincheck on that."

"It's not even 10 A.M.," she whined. "You need more than two hours to fuck me?"

She had a feeling he liked her choice of words—perhaps from the spark of desire in his eyes or the pressure of his hands. "I don't even know if a night will suffice. With all the things I want to do to you."

She squirmed—god, she liked those words. "I'm gonna warn you, I can't come more than twice in a row."

His hands moved from her breasts to her back as he settled. "That's why I need a night." His eyes peered deep in hers—blue was all she could see, all she wanted to see. "We fuck, we cuddle, we talk. And then we repeat."

She swallowed. Her heart was beating speed records. "Remind me to buy condoms," she fumbled, moving away from him, away from the bed and his embrace that begged her to do sinful things.

"Where you going?"

"Away from you and your sexiness. Since I'm not getting some now."

"That's mean," he pretended to whine. "No more kisses?"

She turned around, leaning on the doorframe. "Killua, I'm wet," she said in a matter-of-fact tone. "If I stay within a meter of your body, right now, without sleeping with you, my brain's gonna pour out of my ears and I'm gonna burst out of my panties."

He flashed white teeth at her. "I love when you talk like that. I like Horny Hana. Give me more of her."

"Fuck you," she hissed.

"That's kinda the point."

She huffed. "This is all your fault, giving me the best boob touch I've ever had and being hot and sweet and whatever. Idiot."

"You're in so deep Hana. Just like you'd like me to be."

She shut the door closed just as he was bursting out laughing, cheeks red both from the sudden intimacy and the frustration. She was burning—face, stomach, chest, breasts. And her hands, where she had touched him. Burning for _more_. She couldn't get enough of him.

She grabbed her toothbrush and squished a copious amount of toothpaste on it, hoping the bitterness would sting some sense in her deluded mind. The, she washed her face—with cold water, seeking the same effect the toothpaste was supposed to give.

Both failed. She was still aching to have him.

"You just got a text," he said loudly from the room as she wore her sports shorts.

"What does it say?"

"It's from Allan. He says Nightowl selected one more person for the Whisper's case. He doesn't say who."

… Well, that effectively washed through her heated thoughts. "Poor soul," she feigned to joke—but it came out as more of a sad complaint than an actual joke.

When she came out of the bathroom, dressed in black sports shorts and a pink tank top, he was still on the bed, browsing through his phone. "Go get prepared," she asked. "Get your sexiness away from my room."

He smirked. "I'll find you at the portal in fifteen minutes, okay?"

"Sure."

She leaned in for a kiss. Then, he was gone.

She had fifteen minutes to prepare herself for the sight of him in sports tights.

 _God help me._

* * *

Nothing could have prepared her. _Nothing_. Not even the angels with their heavenly choir could have matched that much beauty. She was a total fool to even think she could have been ready for such a glorious, eye-turning, life-changing, religious sight.

The sports tights were so close to his body, so _damn_ close, they traced the line of every muscle. His thighs, his calves—his _ass_ , dammit.

How could she even have _considered_ she could have been prepared for that?

"So, I get you like the sight, hmm?"

She briefly met his eyes—then grinned a cheek-splitting grin as she stared some more. "Uh-huh. Very much so."

"Callipygian much?"

"Is there a word that's like, stronger than callipygian?"

He burst out laughing. "Wow. Now that's something I like to hear," he mused, beckoning her to walk with him.

"Now that's something I like to _see_."

"You've got a serious thing for my ass. Whenever we make out, I know your hands are gonna be in my back pockets."

"I like it here. It's nice."

"'Nice'?" he repeated, looking pointedly at her.

"… Okay, it's heavenly."

He seemed to like that answer more, judging from the satisfied, smug smile he proudly flashed. "Feels heavenly here too."

"You like it when I grab your ass?"

"It drives me a little crazy."

All she could imagine was grabbing his backside to pull him deeper. "Good to know," she said after a moment blinking the thought away. _Focus, Hana. Cold water. Toothpaste_. _Cold Water. Toothpaste. His ass. Wait, no._

"What about during sex?" she blurted out, fumbling a little with the words. Not out of embarrassment—her mind was just going overdrive. "I mean, do you like it when… your partner grabs your ass during sex?"

His smirk was still hanging on his lips. He leaned close to her, lips brushing her ear, breath warm on her skin. "I love it."

 _Oh shit._

Her mouth stayed shut, locked in a sheepish and quite dumb smile. He was watching her—with a smug face, that much she was sure of—but she didn't know what to make of the mess in her head. ' _I love it.'_

So she started running. "Last one at the _Jardins de L'Opéra_ does the dishes tonight!" she shouted. The last thing she saw was his shocked face, mouth gaping, right before he started running too.

"You little shit!" he shouted back, and she laughed, not slowing down the littlest bit.

"No nen or else you also do the laundry!"

"UGH. You're a cheater!"

She answered by picking the pace up. Killua was fast, incredibly so, but so was she. And without his nen to turn him into a physics-defying lightning-fueled speed beast… well, she could match his speed.

He caught up with her right as they passed in a quiet street, both avoiding the passersby on their race toward the park. At this point, they both took turns at taking the lead, each straining their forces to arrive first at the park like the big kids they were—the threat of the dishes, or worse, the _laundry_ , was effective. And at last, with the wind slapping her face and biting her arms and running through her hair, she could think clearly. Air filled her lungs, washed through her whole body, purified her cells. Blood pulsed in her head, in her chest, in her neck as she ran faster and faster. She was high on this cleansing feeling. The liberating kind of high.

They didn't stop running. No car would stop them in their neighborhood—it was too far from the city center, and most people had already gone to work or were too old to drive. They ran by a few old women sitting on a bench, catching a whiff of their powdery perfume. They outran a dog too—who started barking at them and following them before his owner stopped him. But they didn't stop.

They only did when they reached the flourish gates of the _Jardins de l'Opéra_ , grand and swirling and perhaps a little bit excessive.

This time, even Killua was tired. He hunched over, resting his hands on his thighs, while she arched her neck back, hands resting on her waist, gulping whatever air she could.

"You," he started, catching his breath, eyes glaring in hers. "You do the dishes tonight."

She exhaled through her mouth, stretching her back. "I arrived first."

" _I_ did."

"I was in front of you."

"You had a head start."

"But you caught up with me."

"I wouldn't have had to if you hadn't _cheated_ ," he fought.

She offered a hand to help him get up. He took it as he stood straighter—and didn't let go. "You're such a sore loser, Killua."

"And you're a cheater."

"I still won."

He pouted. "Not fair."

She chuckled. "You know what? I have another plan," she started, walking on an empty path with him as they engulfed in the park.

"Do tell?"

"No dishes at all," she proposed. "We order food instead. What do you say?"

He smiled, considering the offer. "Sounds great."

"And then you sleep at my place."

His smile grew bigger. "Sounds even greater."

Then, they started jogging together. For real, this time. Both going at a decent pace but not overdoing themselves. They didn't talk much, instead focusing on their bodies and their muscles and the path in front of them. The grass-lined path with flowers and bushes and tall trees on either side of them, arranged in fancy patterns and beautiful sculptures. The _Jardins de L'Opéra_ , as their name implied, used to be the gardens right next to the former opera house—now a museum—that had animated this neighborhood for long years. After the opera closed, relocated closer to the city center, the gardens were turned into a park, one of the most beautiful of the city. It was huge enough to afford three entrances, all of them in three different neighborhoods. With its vast spaces and colorful paths, it was the perfect place to stroll, picnic, or go jogging.

(And also to make out.)

They ran this way for half an hour, never slowing the pace but never accelerating either. Living through the peaceful, cleansing moment—the silence and the constant pace, the scent of dew-covered grass and rose bushes, the soft sun warming their skin. Little by little, her head was less cloggy, less crowded.

When they did stop, they walked together in a shadowy part of the park. The trees above them covered the sun, but sunlight broke through the foliage and drew flourish patterns on his face. She wanted to trace the patterns with her finger.

"Killua?" she finally called when she had caught her breath.

"Yeah?"

"What are you thinking about?"

He briefly looked at her. "What happened yesterday."

She fell silent. She remembered all too well the helplessness of the day before, watching people turn into charcoal as they screamed for help but being unable to help them. The bitter aftertaste of guilt lingered. Guilty of not taking the risks she should have taken to prevent more deaths. And the resignation. At her own powerlessness.

"I've been wanting to talk about that too," she admitted, perhaps a bit too cautiously. Her wounds still smarted. "The smokes bomb or whatever it was. That damned nen user."

He watched her from the corner of his eyes. Was it her silence that had triggered his concern? "Hmm." He narrowed his eyes. "We do need to sort some things about the smokes nen user. His abilities are far worse than I first thought."

"And his intentions," she furthered.

He nodded. "We know one thing about him: he has at least three abilities," he started, eyes focused in front of him.

"He can put a nen oath on people," she continued. "If those people break the oath, they self-combust and emit toxic smokes." She pictured the charred flesh of all those corpses the day before, black wood fuming with the curse smokes. She shuddered.

"Yeah." He frowned. "I remember, with Mulgrad, the smokes didn't fill the room. So one person breaking an oath wouldn't be enough to fill the entire ballroom. Either a bunch of people did, or the smokes guy has the ability to produce them _without_ an oath."

"That's his second ability, then," she noted. "You said you saw a ball of smoke, right?"

"While we were dancing, yeah. I didn't see who launched it, only that it was there."

"So Smokey can drop smoke bomb of a sort. That's probably how he killed Ziam Torana and his family. He launches them, they explode, and whoever breathes them self-combusts and emits more of that smoke. And their range is dangerously… high."

He smiled a little. "Wondie, Smokey… you like giving ridiculous nicknames to bad guys, right?"

"Makes them less threatening. I'm not gonna say 'the smokes nen user' all the time, duh."

He shrugged. "Okay, Smokey it is, then." His face became serious. "Apart from the oath and the smoke bomb, there's one last ability, far worse than the others."

"The Bite," she said.

"Is that how you called it?"

"It looked like a bite," she argued, recalling the crawling noise texture on the hunter's chest. As if it were gnawing him.

"Fair enough. The Bite kills in a minute and a half. That's why David was counting; he felt he would die."

"And when he died, he self-combusted," she recalled. Chills clawed up her spine at the thought. "At least that's the constant thing about him: when you die from his curses, you self-combust and emit toxic smokes—to kill more people."

"Like an infection." He looked up, but wasn't seeing anything. "But unlike the Bite, the smokes don't necessarily kill you. I inhaled them and survived—I'm guessing there's a sort of time or quantity limit. Like, if you inhale the smokes for _x_ seconds, you die. If you inhale _x_ quantity of smoke, you die. Now, I don't know if they're correlated—could be both."

Her eyes darted to a chirping bird fumbling in a tree. Teal feathers shone on its wings. She widened her eyes. "Remember the card you got from Charybdis? They did say you hadn't inhaled the smokes for _long_ enough. So I think it's more of a time limit. Quantity probably has a say in it too, but I don't know how. Perhaps the more you inhale the faster you die, or the more painful the death is. But as you said, it could be both, and Charybdis could be wrong."

"Nah, your theory stands. Charybdis knows much more about everything than we do. Besides, as soon as the hunters are cured, we'll know. As horrible as it is, it will help us gather more info about Smokey." He stopped walking. "There's something I can't quite figure, though."

She stopped too, turned toward him and, without thinking, took his hand. "What is it?"

He squeezed her hand. "I think Faem didn't do it. Or at least, he didn't plan it. Even if Smokey is in Faem's ranks, it wasn't Faem's decision to crash the party."

"His wife was endangered," she guessed. "And he would never endanger her."

"Yes. His fear was far too genuine to be an act." He cracked a bitter smile. "And his affection, too." He looked her in the eye. "But he confirmed what I had theorized: if you don't inhale it, you can't die. He kept asking her if she had inhaled it. And Olivia knows about his activities, or at least about Smokey's existence, because she knew she shouldn't breathe."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Do you think she knows who Smokey is?"

"I don't think so," he said, and they started walking again, hand in hand. "Faem wouldn't endanger her with that knowledge. Smokey obviously doesn't care about her wellbeing; he wouldn't hesitate to kill her if he thought his goals, whatever they are, could be compromised."

"Like if someone tortured his identity out of Olivia," she guessed.

"Exactly."

"Olivia probably doesn't know much about what he does, then."

"Or about the details," he corrected.

"You mean, like knowing he has a base somewhere but not knowing where? Or knowing Smokey exists without knowing who he is?"

"I think so. She knows what he does—but she doesn't know enough to be useful to any enemy of his. It dissuades people to attack her."

She huddled closer to him. "They seem to have a strangely healthy relationship," she mused.

"I thought so as well." He scoffed. "He's an asshole to everyone and a complete sweetheart to his wife."

"Nothing is entirely black or white," she said. "A hard-learned lesson."

He pressed his lips to her cheek. "It makes the world more interesting."

"He confuses me, though," she continued. "I don't know what to believe anymore. If Faem didn't plan to do that, then why did Smokey do it? Is it really Smokey who works under Faem, or Faem who works for Smokey?"

He exhaled. "Good point. At this point, it's hard to tell. When I talked to him, Faem didn't admit to anything, but he was defensive. As though he was endorsing the responsibility."

"Because he _is_ behind Priman's death," she whispered.

"Exactly. The hierarchy between Faem and his smokes 'friend' is still blurry, but one thing is sure: they work together, and Faem planned Priman's death. Now we don't know if Smokey was acting on his own when he killed Ziam Torana, but we do know he was protecting Faem when he placed the oath on Mulgrad."

"And we know he's wildly unpredictable. What he did yesterday… I guess it was only for his own benefits."

Killua frowned. "Yeah. I think he was trying to kill two birds with one stone. Get rid of some people while observing hunters' abilities."

"Get rid of… the President's daughter," she guessed. "David said Zaynab had survived the attack, but was attacked later, by Smokey himself."

"He wanted to get rid of her, that's certain. She and David were the only ones with the Bite."

"You think she knew something compromising?"

He exhaled. "I don't know. If it's something about Faem, then you, Elias and I are also in danger. But Smokey hasn't tried to personally attack us yet, so either he's saving us for later or Zaynab knew something more important. Perhaps something about Smokey himself."

"Something that even her father didn't know," she added.

"Possibly, since he let Saif live. And the other 'benefit' was to observe the abilities of all those top agents. Saif, Allan, Lenaic, your mom. Even Nightowl, if I remember well, used his ability. Imagine the knowledge he could gather just from watching all these hunters' abilities from up close. That's more knowledge than any hacker hunter could ever gather on the Hunter Website."

She scoffed. "That's evil but pretty smart," she mumbled. "So all these deaths were just… diversion, in the end."

"Pretty much. He needed confusion to act, a situation bad enough to force all hunters to cooperate. Perhaps he was even trying to destroy documents, who knows what burnt in that hellhole. Until the experts enlighten us, we don't know that."

She sighed. "This is even more of a mess than I first thought. So now, we need to know who Smokey is?"

"Yeah, and what's his link to Faem, his implication in Priman's death. And his link to the comb. Because for all we know, Faem isn't the one who wants that comb; Smokey could be. We can't just assume anything, but we gotta keep that in mind. And we gotta to be careful, who we trust our info with."

"About that," she started, searching his eyes. "Should we tell Saif, about Mulgrad?"

Killua focused. "I don't know. I think we should keep it to ourselves. Even if Saif means well…"

"The attacker doesn't, and could be around him."

"Exactly."

"So you too think that," she said under her breath. "That he was still among us."

"Yeah. Only guests or hunters were allowed in, so he was either of them. Rogue hunters like those who work in the Phantom Troup would have been noticed."

"And he knew how to blend in and avoid being found," she added. "It's not reassuring but it makes a whole lot of sense. Just as Gayan said, the 'enemy' has a reach in the HCDS itself."

"Except it's more like the HCDS has a tumor and that tumor has a reach in the Mafia itself, through Faem," he mused.

She nodded. "So we keep silent, about what we know."

"Yeah, at least until we have a solid lead. Saif could help us, but it will be hard to get to him without spreading the word in the HCDS. If he entrusts what we tell him to the wrong person, it all goes down. And there's always the doubt too—what if Saif _is_ the culprit? Horrible and unrealistic, but we can't assume anything."

"It's a terrible situation," she said. Then, she tightened her grip on his hand. "You think Charybdis and Scylla are in the same situation we are? They know things they can't say, lest they endanger themselves, so they remain anonymous to help us?"

"Perhaps. With someone as dangerous as this guy around, I wouldn't flaunt what I know of him either."

"Hana?" a familiar voice called.

Startled out of her bubble with Killua, Hana turned around, meeting curious but excited brown eyes. She took in the small person—wild black curls strung in a ponytail, sun-kissed skin, sharp eyebrows… and the ever-present self-proclaimed 'bitchy' smile. "Noor?"

"Oh my _God_!" Noor exclaimed, hands on her hips. "I'm glad I got out of bed today!"

Hana laughed, pulling Noor into a hug. "I've missed you!"

"Same here, girl!" When she broke the hug, Noor stared at Killua with a curious face. "Sorry, I think I interrupted."

"No problem. I'm Killua," he introduced, taking her hand.

"I'm Noor."

"She's a friend of mine," Hana explained.

"We were students together at the HCDS," Noor furthered. "We survived hell back there."

"More like, we caused hell back there," Hana corrected.

Noor giggled—that was her thing, the little 'I didn't do it' cheeky giggle. "That works too."

"That doesn't even surprise me," Killua said. His phone rang at this moment, and he briefly excused himself to answer it."

Noor watched him walk away. "It's a bit intimidating to be surrounded by people as tall as you two. I feel like I'm in Giant Land."

"You're the tiny one," Hana argued.

She grinned. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"We went jogging together. The weather was nice and we kinda needed to… free our heads."

"I know what you're talking about," Noor said with a sigh. "I also needed to free my mind. Illy almost threw me out because I was being too annoying."

Hana snorted. She could _so_ picture Ilvana do that. "I wonder how she bears with you, honestly."

"You're one to talk!"

Killua came back. He gently touched Hana's arm. "I gotta go. This guy asked if I could do meet him half an hour sooner, and it's actually more convenient for me." He looked at Noor. "Besides, looks like you've got a lot to catch up on."

She grinned. "Okay. I'll see you tonight then."

"Okay." He quickly kissed her goodbye. Then, to Noor: "And you, we'll have more time to properly meet another time. You'll be seeing me a lot anyway," he said with a little smirk—it was so satisfying to hear him say that.

"I can't wait!" Noor replied, eyes shining with the anticipation of all the questions she could ask Hana— 'who's that boy?' 'did he just kiss you?' 'why do you drool when you look at him?' and the like.

He left then. As soon as he was out of sight, Noor grabbed Hana's arm. "Let's walk a bit. You've got a _looooot_ to tell me." She flashed her trademark 'little minx' smile. "I heard you were at the HCDS party!" she dropped. "Or like, before hell unleashed on it," she muttered.

"Who told you?"

"Ophee did. She saw you dancing with Allan. She sounded happy."

Hana blinked at the words. "Ophelia? I didn't even see her."

"She left soon enough—just stayed long enough to show Nightowl she had come. She was lucky as hell, considering what happened next." Noor sighed. "Ilvana nearly panicked when we saw on the news that half the HCDS had burnt. All she could imagine was me among the corpses."

Hana exhaled. "Can't blame her there. It was quite… wild, to say the least. I had no idea what was happening until it was over."

"Well, whoever did that reached his goal. The whole HCDS is paralyzed; people are still in shock. The President…"

"I know," she breathed. "Zaynab died."

"Yeah. I didn't know her that well, but it's still hard. She's one of the only hunters who died."

"There aren't a lot of hunter casualties?" Hana asked.

"Nope. Most casualties were 'normal' guests. But a lot of hunters were wounded."

"Do you know if they're gonna make it?"

"I've heard some medics say they'll live—but they're in a lot of pain. Some of them can't even move."

"How sweet," Hana mumbled.

"Yeah, way to end the week. But anyway, girl. _Girl_. _I missed you_. You and your stupid jokes. Ophee and Allan too. And so many more people."

"I never considered anyone would miss me," Hana argued.

"The HCDS has a lot of assholes but a lot of people really cared about you. Remember Jackson? Jackson King?"

She pictured the tall man with his dark umber skin, shaved head, and ever-present smirk. "Nobody could forget Jack."

"Every time he sees me, he asks how you are," she informed while Hana widened her eyes. "And Valencie? From our training classes when we were apprentices?"

"Valencie hated me!" Hana argued. "All she did was criticize me when we trained together."

"Believe it or not, she never trained with us again after you were gone. I heard her tell the Fighting Techniques teacher you were the only one she liked fighting with."

Hana looked away. "I didn't know."

"Now you do. There will always be people who hate you or make fun of you, but do they matter? We miss you, people you barely suspect. Ana and Vivi, constantly remembering the lame puns you used to make to make them laugh, when they were new and shy. Ayen was bragging to his buddies last time about knowing you, when they were talking about you being at the party. And even Tala, she told Ophee and me that she missed having you as a student."

A shy smile was all Hana could manage. "I really had no idea…"

"Because you're not looking," Noor said with a smile.

Without thinking, Hana pulled Noor into a hug. "Thank you so much, Noor."

Noor hugged her back—all the while laughing. "You're crushing me with your boobs!"

Hana pulled back with a blush and a laugh. "Oops. Sorry. I forget you're so tiny, sometimes."

"I'm not complaining," Noor joked. "Don't tell my girlfriend though."

Hana burst out laughing. "Speaking of which, how's Ilvana?"

"She's okay. She's either painting of spitting on my boss."

Hana frowned. "Your boss?"

"I'm working directly under Emre Nightowl. It's supposed to be a promotion but people speak to me as if they were giving me their condolences."

"I hope he won't lash out on you for skipping the party," Hana worried.

Noor let out a bitter laugh. "He can't lash out at me more than he has already."

"What did he do?" she asked, fear coating her voice.

But Noor didn't say anything for a long moment. "He assigned me the Whisper's case," she finally revealed.

The words punched Hana in the throat. Allan's text—it all made sense. "Is he fucking crazy?!"

"It was either that or searching for a serial rapist," Noor whispered, eyes full of hurt. "And I can't deal with rapists. You know that."

"The monster," Hana hissed. "He did it on purpose."

"I know," Noor laughed weakly. "He needs strong hunters apparently. To make a search team and catch the Whisper."

They walked on, gazes fixated on their path. "You'll be working with him and Allan."

"Yeah. I try to tell myself at least I'll learn a lot. I've always looked up to Allan. And for all his coldness, Nightowl is a good agent."

"Still, the Whisper…" She shuddered at the thought.

Noor shrugged. "He's a criminal like any other. Or at least that's what I try to tell myself. So far all we do is gather evidence while Nightowl works on building a team." She lowered her voice. "I also think Allan knows who's the survivor."

Hana's throat tightened. "The survivor?"

"The person who survived the Whisper's curse."

Hana's blood froze in her veins at the words. Noor knew Hana had failed to chase the Whisper, and she like everyone thought Hana had left because of the failure—which wasn't entirely wrong. But since Hana's stay in the quarantine sector had been kept a secret, very few hunters knew that she hadn't failed _while_ chasing him; she had _confronted_ him. And survived his curse. Apart from Allan, and perhaps a few higher-ups, the only person who knew Hana _had_ caught the Whisper was Feri.

And now he was dead.

"I heard it was confidential," Hana tried a reply, working on a neutral expression.

"Hmm. So they say. I've heard some people say it was unfair, that the survivor should help with the investigation." She scoffed. "As if it were easy. Searching for the criminal who destroyed you. Thinking about them all the time. Being forced to stay face to face with your trauma. They think it's fucking easy."

A lump lodged in Hana's throat. Those words, even if they weren't knowingly meant at her, moved her deep. And she knew what it meant for Noor.

"If the survivor's identity was important, it would have been revealed," Hana disclosed cautiously. "I don't think the HCDS would keep something that important a secret if they couldn't afford to."

"I think so too. That's why it pisses me off when I hear assholes judging the survivor."

"People judge because they don't know. And they assume everyone is like them," Hana started, thinking of how to word this confusing jumble in her head. Of words and feelings, of everything she wanted to say. "They forget everyone has gone through some hardship, that everyone has… feelings, emotions. And reasons." She exhaled soundly. "It's always simple when it's not about them."

"Yeah. Judging is simple. Using their fucking brain and compassion; _that's_ not easy." She sighed in annoyance. They found a bench in a quiet area and sat down. "Can we talk about something funny? People give me migraines."

Hana tapped her thighs. "Fill me in on the gossip! It's one of the things I miss the most!"

Noor rubbed her hands together. "Okay baby, sit back 'cause you're in for a wild ride." She blasted her trademark mischievous grin. "First things first: Ophee and Tala are dating."

" _Oh my God_."

"I know, right? I had this reaction too. I had no idea Tala was into girls! And for real, _Ophee_? Ophee is a fucking bomb!"

"She's so beautiful, it was intimidating," Hana mused, picturing her teenage self fumbling around the beautiful woman. She would long to _be_ like Ophelia. Feminine and womanly and powerful, with that air of constant defiance that never left her perfect face. Ophelia wasn't gawky or lanky like Hana used to be, uncomfortable in her changing body that never looked the way she wanted it to.

(… Okay, perhaps she also used to have a baby crush on her. Just a _tiny_ baby crush.)

Noor made a non-committal noise. "Ophee made me realize I was gay."

Hana laughed. "Seriously? I didn't know."

"Please, everyone at some point had a crush on Ophee. Doesn't matter if you're into girls or not, she'll do the little sexy smirk and you'll liquefy."

"Fair enough." Hana snorted. "One day, she asked me what time it was and I panicked and said 'yes'. And when she laughed I panicked some more and said 'Thursday'."

Noor giggled. "One day she came into the training room to give some documents to Kenshiro, and he got a hard on while she was talking to him."

"Oh my God. Poor him."

"His friends still make fun of him for that. But I felt really bad because if I had a dick you can be sure I'd have been hard too."

"I don't know how she does it."

"I don't know either," Noor admitted. "Other gossip: Tala is replacing Zhu to teach the martial arts class. And she's pretty kickass at it."

"The new apprentices won't know what it's like to be randomly smacked by their teacher."

"You should always be ready!" Noor imitated the growling voice of their old teacher Zhu. "Danger doesn't warn when it comes to bite your ass!"

"Danger is one kinky motherfucker!" Hana exclaimed, joining in on the imitation of their teacher. "Always be ready to strike!"

They laughed together. "Oh boy. He was one hell of a phenomenon. One day, he told me that if I didn't stop being so unpleasant, I'd never find a husband. And I told him I was gay, and he was like 'and so what? You're never gonna find a wife either if all you do is complain! Get your ass back up and go train!'"

Hana laughed. "This is the most Zhu thing I have ever heard. Why did he get replaced by the way?"

"Not sure. Some rumors say he pissed off a ranked agent. Others said he was just better fitted for his new role—coach at the gym."

"Zhu is no coach. He doesn't count, or encourage you; he straight up beats you up."

Noor turned a dramatic face toward her. "Life fucks you up," she imitated Zhu.

"So will I if you don't fight," Hana finished the proud motto of their teacher.

More laughs. "Next on the HCDS Gossips Newsline," Noor announced, bouncing her leg. She told Hana about the many adventures of Ayen, who had been attributed the Lousiest Flirt award by a girl he had been courting for a few months. She laughed as she recounted the story of how his friends had dared him to steal Nightowl's trusted gun—and how his attempt failed as he ran into Nightowl himself, pretended to be doing extra hours, and received a lecture on how to improve his lies. Her eyes shone when she listed all the gifts her friends had gotten her to help her settle in her new apartment with Ilvana.

"It's bigger than the old one," she explained, gesturing with her arms. "Illy has _all_ the space to paint! The walls are all white and naked; Illy has planned to do their painting herself."

"Your entire apartment has become her new canvas," Hana mused, picturing what an entire apartment filled with Ilvana's psychedelic art would look like. Bliss, probably.

"Yeah, exactly." Her cheeks reddened as she grinned, her eyes dazzling with excitement. "It'll be our little home. And it'll look exactly like us. Illy told me she'll let me help her paint the bedroom."

Hana chuckled. "That's so sweet."

"Yeah it is, if you forget what she said next. 'That way I'll be the only one seeing your ugly drawings.'"

"Savage," Hana replied with a snort. "She says that but she's probably just gonna paint nudes of you on your bedroom walls."

Noor giggled. "Why have a painting when she has the live model for her? She's had all time to draw me anyway. Her sketchbooks are filled with me, it's _embarrassing_ ," she exclaimed, slapping her own cheeks.

 _She's adorable_ , Hana thought with a smile. "You're so in love, it's gross."

"Hey, it's all your fault so don't complain. You're the one who introduced us."

"I accidentally made you meet the love of your life," Hana mused, staring at her hands, thinking of the peaceful blue of Killua's eyes that morning. Half-closed, hazy, sleepy. The little spark when his tired smile reached his eyes. His long eyelashes curling so gracefully, hooding his gaze.

"Speaking of _whiiiiich_ ," Noor started, lips curling in a cheeky smile.

"Uh-oh."

"Don't 'uh-oh' me! Who was that boy? Your boyfriend?"

"Killua?" Hana asked sweetly, blinking with faked innocence.

"I don't buy the innocent look," Noor said. "It's the first time I _actually_ see you with a guy."

"The hell's that supposed to mean?"

"That it seems strangely serious," Noor admitted. "I mean, you're seeing a guy outside his bedroom? I'm shook."

Hana gaped. "Hey! I haven't even slept with him yet. Not in that sense, at least…"

Noor whistled. "I feel the disappointment in your voice. You totally wish you could ride him."

"You crude little thing."

"You crude not-little thing," Noor shot back. "He sounds nice, at least."

A small smile brushed Hana's lips. Feather-light like his fingertips, when he caressed her cheek before cupping her face and kissing her. "He's adorable," she breathed. "I—I'm lucky to have met him."

Noor's wide eyes were staring at her. "Oh wow. You're in love."

Hana shrugged, her cheeks warming up. "I might be."

" _Gross_."

"I don't wanna hear that from you," Hana huffed as Noor laughed.

A bell sound tinged from Hana's phone. 'lunch?' was all the message said, and it was from Thomas. If she hadn't had her share of his one-word questions standing for actual invitations, after all these years of friendship, she'd never have decrypted that he was inviting her for lunch. "Noor, I gotta go," she said after typing a quick reply. "Tom is inviting me for lunch."

"Sweet. I gotta go too. Illy will sulk if I'm late for lunch." She got up and straightened her skirt. "Say hi to Tom and June for me." She grinned. "And ask June to show you what he and I have been doing. You won't regret it."

Hana wiggled her eyebrows. "I feel this has something to do with music."

Noor tilted her head one side, then the other. "Perhaps, perhaps not." She gave Hana a hug. "I'll see you," she said then. She cast one last cheeky grin then before finishing her sentence. "You and your cute boyfriend."

* * *

"What were you thinking?! What the _fuck_ was going through your head?"

He was seething. Beside himself. And yet so helpless. Seized by so many contradicting emotions, so many of which had plagued his existence since he had pledged to help his friend. He didn't even remember how the words were out. One moment he had watched him enter the room, the other he was yelling at him and shaking with explosive anger. The type that boils and presses and begs for an exit through your mouth or your fist. The type that gnaws you inside and sits there in your chest, in your throat, a fist of wrath choking you.

"Calm down, Erik," his friend said. Sauntering quietly in the room as if he hadn't nearly killed Olivia the day before. "You're too aggressive."

"Too aggressive? _Too aggressive?!_ How the fuck am I supposed to react? You almost killed her! Did you think _one second_ that she could have died back there before you… you threw _hell_ at our faces?"

"I didn't mean it that way. It had to be done. You know it. You're just demonizing me again."

Erik pursed his lips. His fist was trembling, pulsing with all the things he had repressed that demanded release. "I'm calling you out on your own shit. That's what I'm doing. And _you_ —you're doing the whole 'you make me out to be the bad guy' thing again. Instead of actually _listening_ to me and owning to your shit."

His friend's face remained impassive. He was so calm—so stern. As if this didn't mean a thing to him. "You know very damn well I'd never want to hurt you. Am I not the one who took you out before you died? What happened was—"

"What? An accident? You _accidentally_ endangered my wife? You couldn't save her like you saved me? Or warn me?!"

"It was _not_ my intention. She's not my responsibility. You should have watched over her instead of letting that Zoaldyeck boy distract you."

"If I had known you were planning to crash the party, I'd have watched over her," Erik calmly argued, containing his anger the best he could.

"I don't have to run everything by you. You should know, by now."

"Know what?! Tell me, Malzi! What the fuck should I know?! That you never talk to me before throwing those sick plans of yours? Like when you killed Ziam?!"

"Don't say his name," Malzi hissed, eyes flaring anger.

" _Why?!_ You're gonna tell me you feel an _ounce_ of regret for, for killing my _best friend_?! Because his existence inconvenienced you?!"

"Don't talk as if you knew anything!" Malzi shouted, and Erik fell silent. Appalled, but also terrified. "You know what Ziam did."

"He did _nothing_ ," Erik risked. "You were taking out your hatred for your father on him."

"STOP TALKING!"

Erik stopped talking. He stopped arguing. He even stopped thinking. His mind was going overdrive but no coherent thought came out of the messy jumble in his head. Nothing except his powerlessness. Because no matter what he said, how much he cried, how angry he got, nothing would change. Nothing except the frustration that built up in his chest, that he tried so hard to ignore.

"Stop speaking as if I did all that to hurt you," Malzi then said, walking closer to Erik. "I would never want to hurt you. After all I sacrificed for you? All I did to _protect_ you? I saved you from your father. Hell, I'd do it again, if it meant leaving you safe."

 _You threw me to the dogs, that's what you did,_ Erik thought. _You threw me into that world because it was convenient for you._

 _And I let you_.

Erik's breathing was ragged. His chest heaved, his eyes searched for anything to hold his wild gaze. His hands quivered with a tremor that eventually reached his whole arms. He leaned against his desk, wrapping his arms around himself to calm the shaking. The words were still shivering in him, all the things he had never said.

But he didn't speak them.

"You only ever remember the good times," Erik tried, but he knew he had lost the battle. Once more. He always did.

Malzi placed his hands on each side of Erik's arms. "Because that's all that matters." He tilted his head, searching for Erik's gaze. "Erik, you're like a little brother to me. I didn't mean to scare you, yesterday."

And of course, of course Erik bought that. The whole 'you're like a little brother to me', Malzi's favorite saving line. The one thing he could say every time and Erik would always surrender, always grow soft and mild, always submit to him.

Because deep down, through all the horrible things Malzi had done, all the times he had robbed something dear to Erik, all the fights and all the misery he had put Erik through, Erik couldn't stop loving him. He always came back to him. He always desperately sought his presence, no matter how much it weighed on him or how much he tried to avoid it, to distance himself from it. And Erik knew it, deep down in his soul, he would never stop helping Malzi. No matter what he had to do, who he had to kill, what he had to steal, who he had to _lose_.

He was the only family he had.

* * *

 **A/N:** Dun dun dun! Could this be the real villain of the story? You'll see if you keep reading this story. Because _I_ know. Of course I know B)

That chapter was really fun to write. The conversation between Hana and Noor was completely spontaneous. For those who don't remember, Noor's girlfriend, Ilvana, is the artist who drew nude paintings of Hana. She has a tiny flashback in chapter 10. (Also… yeah, there a detail about Hana that I don't know if you caught ;) )

My favorite scenes to write were the sexy scene and the Malzi/Faem fight. For different reasons. **What were your favorite moments?** I can't wait to read your thoughts! It makes me so happy to read your reviews! Reviews are the best two-minute-recipe to make an author happy and motivate them. It takes hours and hours to produce that kind of content, so tell yourself when you review that you're supporting _days'_ worth of work, and it's very rewarding for us authors.

Next chapter is called **Young** and it features Thomas and June! It was about time I brought back my babies. See a preview below (that isn't the excerpt available on my blog btw).

Until then, I'll see you in two weeks!

Bye!

* * *

 _So she watched him while he started preparing the food. From time to time, she would give him advice on how to peel his potatoes—"Oh my God, just how the hell do you think you're peeling that poor potato? End its suffering!"—or comment on the way he grated them—"Just tell me you have better stamina than that when you give handjobs," a comment that made June hold his sides laughing while Thomas bit his lips in an attempt not to do like him._

 _Then, Hana took the wheel herself. She took the cheese and grated it as Thomas watched, dutifully taking notes while she turned a big square of cheddar into confetti in no time._

" _Go on Hana," June said, sneaking behind his boyfriend to kiss him on the neck. "Show him how to give proper handjobs. I'm begging you."_

" _Yeah, show him what I'll do to him with that grate if he keeps being so rude," Thomas had fired back with his trademark death glare._

 _After which she laughed and June promptly escaped, wincing at the threat._


	29. Young

**A/N:** Hi guys. I hope you're all feeling awesome.

Anyway, I'm late with this chapter, I know, but that's just because I've realized after one year of regular two-week updates that this schedule put too much pressure on me. Besides, it seems like a lot of you are too busy to review, so it'll probably be for the best if I extend the updating scheduling to, idk, whenever I feel like might be a good time. I put a lot of expectations on myself to keep giving chapters every two weeks but 10k words every two weeks is too much, both for you to read (judging from your silence) and for me to write. I don't know if you realize what 10k words mean to write, with a plot and characters to manage. I don't have the energy for fanfiction anxiety really, and I'm busy too, so a larger schedule will be best for everyone.

I don't have a precise schedule in mind, all I know is that I want to always have at least two chapters of advance before I update, so that I can ensure I complete the story. So far I've always respected this rule of mine—and that's also why I took longer to update, I was writing and finishing chapter 30 so there's that—because telling myself I have some advance in case I don't have time to write is more reassuring. I'll do my best to not space out updates too much because a lot of you are still trying your best to support me with every chapter (and I love you for that), but I'm not a machine, please understand that I can't write 20k words per month all year round while going through college.

I've repeated each time I update that it's important to support authors, considering our work is free but no less hard, and after discussing this issue with more authors I just realize more and more that readers obviously have no idea how we feel and how much words go through a chapter they consume in one hour. Some of you are writers, you'll understand what I mean. Now, some might argue that I have a lot of reviews, and I'm thankful to all the people who regularly support me and give this story some love because that's thanks to them, but that doesn't mean I'm not prone to doubt. I'm insecure, like a lot of authors are. And the support I get, like many authors on this website, is irregular and it's confusing.

And I'm actually lucky—when I see the way some gems are treated in the fandom, I feel really angry. I've had authors tell me I made them cry with my reviews because they don't usually get any (their words, not mine). So there's that too. Writing is an incredibly hard work, one that takes time and emotional involvement and diligence and imagination, so I don't think we're asking for much when we ask for feedback. I really don't think so. And I'm not only speaking for myself—I know so many authors who struggle with insecurities because of the lack of response they get. I understand people are busy (trust me, we are too) but it takes one minute to send a few words of encouragements. One minute to make an author's day... I think it's a pretty fair deal u_u

Anyway, on a lighter note, **I've finished chapter 30** , the plot is moving forward, and I've solved some plot questions I had so I'm pretty happy! I'm on break so I'll be writing more before hell starts again.

Annnd **I commissioned the wonderful** **Bibinella** to **draw Thomas** (yes!) and **Hana** , check on my page for the link because it's definitely worth it! I mean, you've never seen what Thomas looks like, right? How about you check out what June fell for? ;) Also do yourself a favor and follow Bibinella, she's so kind and her art is dope and her livestreams are the funniest things ever (last time she was drawing Killua! And we shared selfies!). ALSO I commissioned the amazing **masthya** to draw **Hanallua being silly** and it's absolutely gorgeous :') (HANA'S LEGS GIVE ME LIFE *screams*). Please check the commission and also their amazing art, it's life-saving.

Also, I would like to leave a warm hug and a special thanks for my awesome, brilliant, adorable friend **Mars** (yes you, my little Mars) (aka the bright **OooodleOfNooodles** whose username makes me hungry because NOODLES!) for recommending my fic on her dA ;A; (AND IF YOU ARE STILL NOT READING HER FIC, DO IT! SAVE YOURSELVES MY FRIENDS, CRY AND FANGIRL WITH ME: **Among the Water Weeds** , featuring my husband Killua and my son Elodea in an emotional rollercoaster, father-and-son epic story (with CREEPY UNCLE FUCKILLUMI *hiss*) because yes, the only romance in the story is between me and Mars's Killua and beware, we've been happily married for 13 years and have adopted Elodea together) (*aherm*) THANK YOU MARS, I LOVE YOU SO MUCH ;A; (also thanks for bearing with my antics and my obsession with marrying your Killua)

As always, thanks to all those who read and support this fic. I sounded bitter earlier but that doesn't mean I don't love you. It's okay to take time to read, I'm a slow reader myself, but support the fics you read, comment and review. Even a few words can mean the world to us. You might be the reason an author doesn't give up, or the reason their reviews blow up and their story gets attention. And well, you might find yourself amazing friends too. I'm speaking from experience.

Okay, that was a freakishly huge note… I'll make the next ones smaller. Now dig in the chapter, I'll find you below!

 **Recommended song for this chapter** : **FIRE – BTS**

 **Warnings:** explicit jokes, sex talks.

* * *

Chapter 28: **Young**

* * *

 **Friday, May 29th**

 **6:24 P.M.**

The cool thing about Friday evenings was that it was _usually_ okay to not work at all. Or at least, that's what Hana told herself when her body desperately needed some fun and relaxation but her mind was itching to _get things done_. Because Hana _really_ disliked procrastinating. So much that she did the complete opposite: overwork herself.

That was why, the perspective of spending an _entire_ evening doing nothing when her work had just gotten crazy was… crazy, at least. Downright nonsense, at most. Dearest Smokey was roaming somewhere in the city, and though she couldn't find him overnight, she kept thinking every minute working was a minute closer to the truth.

"Hana, even Smokey has fun on Friday nights," Killua had repeated, that morning. They had spent the night at his apartment, and had woken up early so they could work on their case. It had been Killua's idea, despite their tiredness, to wake up earlier than usual. Because he really wanted them to relax in the evening but she was hesitant, mildly freaking out over how much work they had. So he had come up with that compromise: wake up at dawn to do the work they should have done in the evening.

It had worked. Sort of. A part of her would still feel like they could _also_ wake up at dawn _and_ work during the evening, but she hadn't dared utter that. He was already willing to make a straining effort and get out of bed at 6 A.M., she wasn't going to ask more. Besides, she felt privileged that he was ready to do that for her, just so she didn't panic.

And so, they had spent the day working. Taking a little pause at lunch to eat, and then working again. Relentlessly. Collecting every single hint about a nen user manipulating smokes, every occurrence of arsons in Megamshill since Ziam Torana died, every correspondence and relationship about Faem.

And they had found nothing.

"Tell me, again, why I don't just barge in Faem's place and snap his neck for being such an annoying asshole?"

She rose her eyes from the article she had been reading—about the HCDS attack—and blinked at Killua. He was tipping the chair back, balancing himself on it, staring at the ceiling. "Because then we have no more lead to find Smokey?" she simply said.

"Ugh. Why can't you just say, I don't know, 'You're right, Killua! Great idea!' or something?" he whined.

"Because it's a lousy idea."

"Right."

She looked at the chair's legs, at his own legs crossed on the table. "You're gonna fall, Killua."

"Let the shock bring the illumination I need," he mumbled.

"It will only bring a nasty bump on the back of your head."

He eyed her from the corner of his eyes. "Boohoo, you're no fun," he deadpanned.

"You remind me of Elias."

He stopped tipping the chair, uncrossed his legs from the table, and sat correctly. "I do _not_."

She smiled. He was so _petty_.

She got up then, sidling up to him. She put her hands on his shoulders, squeezing softly, then hugged him from behind. She rested her chin on his shoulder, laying a kiss on his cheek. It still felt surreal that she could just come up to him and touch him and kiss him whenever she wanted. "At least now we know we can't find him through conventional means."

He put his hand on her arm, stroked it with his thumb. "Which means we'll need to spy on them at some point," he concluded, but his voice was solemn. "And expose ourselves as the annoying meddling kids we are."

She chortled. "Say, in an alternate universe, do you think Elias would be Shaggy or Scooby?"

He laughed wholeheartedly, that boyish laugh of his that she loved so much. "Where does that even come from?"

"You're the one who made the reference."

"I like how you're not giving him the other options," he mused. "For all we know, deep down, Elias is the Velma of the group, but he acts like a Shaggy."

"No way!" she laughed. "Besides, you're already Velma. And I'm Daphne."

"Hey, why do you get to be the fashionista? I'm definitely Daphne," he argued. "You're the one who's always so serious and thinks one evening of fun will ruin your whole life."

"Not even true."

"Yes, it's true. I never realized it would be _that_ hard to make you relax. Especially not after you forced me to watch your cheesy movies _every single day_."

She nibbled on his ear, and he laughed again. "Watching a Disney before bed is okay! It's only ninety minutes! You do realize an evening out, an evening with Tom and June of all people, means we're not gonna be home before 3 A.M. right?"

"I don't mind. As long as it makes you relax. They're fun anyway, and you need to see your best friend sometimes, you know?"

She smiled fondly, kissing his jaw. "I know. Truth is, I can't wait to see him."

He took his phone, checking the time. "Speaking of which, you should go now. Get some time with them before I join you guys."

"You're not coming with me?"

"Not yet. I'm gonna call Gon. And clean around a bit." He broke the embrace, standing up. "I think it'll be good for you to spend some time with them alone."

"You know, they like you. I mean, you speak as if you're an outsider," she worried.

The corner of his lips tipped up. "I know I'm welcome. I like them too. But I want you to have some private time with them."

She sighed. "You're so adorable, Killua. I'm…" She fell silent, and pulled him into a hug instead. "This."

"Better than any word," he said as he chuckled, hugging her back.

"I'll see you tonight then?" she asked as she loosened the hug, though it was more of a statement than a question.

"Yep. I'll bring the dessert. And my sexy abs."

"All the same to me," she whispered against his lips, then kissed him, softly. He gripped her waist, breathing in deeply as he tilted his head. And he pulled her closer. Always.

When they broke the kiss, she didn't open her eyes just yet, still savoring the moment. The way her body hummed with sweet delight. The warmth of his body against hers. The safety of his grip, like he would never let go. And she grinned. "It was meant as a goodbye kiss," she started, staring into his blue eyes. "But now I don't want to leave you."

He laughed and kissed her again. "Go see your friends, young lady."

"Okay. Say hi to Gon for me!"

Peeling herself off his body had been a hard task, even more so after that last kiss, but Killua was right when he said she needed to see her friends. With everything going on in her life and everything going on Thomas's life, they had barely gotten time to do more than text and occasionally call. Occasionally. Because Thomas didn't like calls. He abhorred them just as much as Elias abhorred work. Perhaps even more. (Which was why she never called him; she waited for him to call her, because then that meant he was okay with talking on the phone.)

And so, after a quick fix-up of her appearance, she took her purse and went to see her friends.

She couldn't wait.

* * *

The plan was simple: one, ring at Tom and June's apartment _once_. Two, say hi like a mature adult—also known as, without letting the whole building know that she was with her friends. Three, catch up with each other's life.

Right. That was fairly simple. She could do it. Of course she could. She was a mature adult.

So she rang. Once.

And stared at the doorbell. The nice little switch so conveniently placed next to the door. So sleek and so round and so everything that made a doorbell button perfect. At the perfect height for her finger to press it. _Begging_ her to press it.

Begging her.

Begging—

She pressed the button. She pressed it repeatedly until June's voice weakly arose in between the ringing. "I heard you alright, dork!"

And she giggled like the big kid she was. She had already failed the first step of her plan.

June finally opened the door, feigning to glare at her—because, believe it or not, she was still ringing that damned doorbell. "You ever gonna stop?" he asked.

She stopped.

And she jumped on him. "Bear hug!" she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around his neck while he laughed, and then her legs around his hips like a baby koala hugging its mother.

He struggled to close the door. "Wow there! You missed me that much?"

"Yes!" she said again—second step of her _How to be a mature adult_ plan failing. "I missed you!"

He gently patted her back, then hugged her back. "I missed you too. And Tom missed you even more. You don't wanna go say hi?"

"Carry me there," she asked.

And he did. "Babe, I got something to tell you," June said to Thomas as he got into the bedroom. She was grinning, nuzzled in his neck, impatient to see what Thomas would say.

"What?" Thomas grumbled, and from the sound of it, he hadn't looked up from whatever he had to be reading.

"I adopted a koala."

Silence followed. Silence during which both she and June tried to stifle their laughter, soon followed by Thomas himself. And they laughed as she let go of June to throw herself in Thomas's arms, covering his cheeks with kisses. "Goddammit, you and your antics!" Thomas exclaimed, traces of mirth remaining in his voice.

"How to make an entrance, the Hana way," she bragged.

"Damn right."

June snickered. "It's the Killua effect," he chimed in. "It's written all over your face."

"More like on her neck," Thomas added.

Her cheeks flushed red, fingers instantly going to the hickey in her neck. And for a short instant, all she could picture was Killua's lips and tongue and teeth carving that sweet mark on her skin. "I don't know what you're talking about," she mumbled.

June wiggled his eyebrows. " _Hoho_ , girl is getting flustered."

"Not even true!"

Thomas snaked his arms around her waist, bringing her closer. "Yes it is. You're never embarrassed, unless you're serious," Thomas said.

"That's right," June butted in. "I can't believe how many outrageous stories you've told us. I swear even I didn't get into so many guys' pants."

Thomas glared at him—and as usual, June flashed his cheekiest grin. "We all know you only get embarrassed when it matters."

She pouted. "So what?"

"So nothing! We're happy for you," June explained. "At last our baby girl settles with a guy."

"We're not even dating yet!"

Thomas let her go, and she sat next to him on the bad. "You're blushing. _Blushing_ , Hana."

"I blush a lot."

"You do, but not for guys. You have more chances to blush for a nice and round muffin than a guy."

June nodded. "Listen to your father, young lady," he agreed.

"Whatever. You lost your bet anyway."

"What bet?" Thomas asked.

But June simply narrowed his eyes. "No way."

"What bet?!"

Hana smirked. "A month ago, June said that Killua and I would've had sex one month from that day. It's been one month and a week, and we haven't done _anything_."

"Is it your decision?" Thomas asked.

She sighed loudly. "No," she admitted.

And June burst out laughing again. "I would have won if your guy were half as thirsty as you are!" he exclaimed.

"You can't blame _me_ for being thirsty, like, _holy shit_ , have you looked at him?"

"Damn right I have," June agreed. "He doesn't compare to my boy but he's definitely one fine guy."

Thomas arched an eyebrow. "How do you even compare _me_ to _him_? It's like comparing a tricycle to a sports bike."

She elbowed him. "Don't say that. You're so beautiful."

"Yeah, don't say that. I have the cutest boyfriend in the world, so what?" June said.

Thomas smiled a little, pretending to roll his eyes.

"I can't believe you two didn't do anything," June then continued. "Like, not even a little second base? For real? _You_ , Hana?"

"Oh my God, what's that supposed to mean?"

"You're always thirsty," Thomas piped in.

June nodded at him. "And you desperately need to get laid, for real."

"You're both terrible friends," she mumbled. They looked pointedly at her for a moment, until she sighed in defeat. "Okay, I _do_ need to get laid. As soon as possible. I feel like I'm gonna burst sometimes."

"Damn straight you do."

More sighs, from her. "Can you blame me though? Just imagine what it's like being around that much hot all the time. And since Wednesday we're just always half-naked around each other!"

"Poor girl, I feel you. The first days with Tom were hell. It's that moment when you wanna wait but your body is like 'You. Need. Sex. Right now.'"

"You were like that with me?" Thomas whispered.

She grinned, and June just gaped in disbelief at what his boyfriend at just said. "We've been together for _three years_ and you still haven't figured I was thirsty as fuck for you?"

"… I don't know."

June pointed at him, looking at Hana. "Tip: don't be _this_ level of oblivious."

"…"

He groaned. "Oh come on, please don't tell me you _are_ that level of oblivious."

"Um… No?" she lamely tried.

He cocked an eyebrow. "Uh-huh."

She exhaled. "Look, it took me so long to just… figure out _why_ he would even want to be with friends me. Let alone that he could have feelings for me."

"Yeah, I honestly don't know what Killua sees in you," June deadpanned. "It's not like you're beautiful and hot as fuck."

"And smart. And so incredibly kind," Thomas chimed in.

"And funny, with on-point meme knowledge."

"And cute, adorable, joyful. Hardworking and ambitious and bright and strong."

June nodded. "Don't forget that ass. And that smile. That badassery."

"Those _eyes_. That _laugh_. Those _moves_."

She buried her face in her hands. " _Stop iiiit_ ," she babbled, cheeks burning from both the embarrassment and the ear-splitting grin that took over her face. She rested her head on Thomas's shoulder while he put an arm around her shoulder, he and June laughing at her behavior. "You're too kind."

"Only telling the truth," Thomas said.

She looked at her hands. "We're not dating yet, though. I mean, not officially, so until then I just assume we're not a couple."

"Why don't you ask him out? You're not the type to wait for the guy to make his move," June noted.

"I would have asked him out if I felt like it was what he wanted. But somehow…"

Thomas squeezed her shoulder. "Hey, it's okay. Remember how much time June needed to ask me out? It's okay if it takes some time."

"For my defense, having a crazy abusive father seemed like a deal-breaker to me. I never understood how you were so ready to bear with my heavy family issues," June mumbled.

Thomas rolled his eyes. "Perhaps because I was in love with you, you idiot." Then to Hana: "See, he says you're oblivious, but he's even worse."

"I genuinely thought I was too much to handle," June countered.

She gave a sad smile then. "I felt the same. I still do, sometimes. Killua always reassures me about that, says I don't burden him. He keeps repeating I'm not my mistakes, and that everyone has issues and I shouldn't punish myself for being human. But it almost seems like _he_ has issues he's afraid to share," she admitted. "I don't know. Perhaps I'm looking too much into it."

"Why don't you talk to him?" Thomas asked. "It helps. A lot."

She shrugged. "I don't know, I'd rather not cause issues so early in. I told him he could talk to me, but I don't wanna push him if he's not ready."

"What about you, though?" June said, nodding at her. "You sound insecure when you talk about it. You should think about yourself too. He doesn't have to talk about his issues, but if something makes you insecure—like the state of your relationship—you can bring it up with him."

"I'm okay. I just—I want to wait a little. See how things evolve."

June shared a quick glance with Thomas—the type that meant they would probably discuss her behavior when she was gone. She wasn't so wrong when she had three worried dads, in the end.

"Whatever you want," Thomas started. "Take your time, enjoy what you have. It's okay, too. As long as you two feel good."

"And something tells me you're having fun anyway."

She giggled. "We do have fun. Whatever you meant by that."

June wiggled his eyebrows. "So I didn't lose my bet?"

"You did. We never had sex. But…" She flashed a cheeky grin. "Okay, I'll tell you. As a thank-you." She inhaled, tipping her chin up. "We did do some naughty stuff."

"Ohhhh!" June exclaimed.

"But like, not naughty-naughty."

Thomas smiled. "Just naughty, not naughty-naughty."

"Yes," she agreed, nodding solemnly.

June wiggled his eyebrows. " _Annnnnd_?"

She gave the proudest grin ever, cheeks blushing slightly. "He gave me a boob second base."

"Ohhhhhh!"

She was still grinning. "Yup."

"Say, how was it?" June asked, sitting in front of her on a little pouffe.

She sighed, feigning to faint. "Fucking amazing."

They both chortled. "Tell me about it," Thomas joked.

"Well, see, I'm not exactly flat-chested. But—" she placed her hands in front of herself, closed them and opened them as through she were pressing on something invisible. "—my boobs are the perfect size for his hands."

More laughs. "Now _that's_ my Hana, crude and shameless as fuck," June said.

Thomas pinched her cheek. "She's still blushing though."

She got up. "Anyway, we need to start preparing the dinner! Killua will be coming for dinner!"

"Escaping?" June asked, to Thomas.

"Totally escaping," Thomas replied.

She whirled around, hands on her hips. "I'm gonna start singing if you two don't follow me out right now."

And sure enough, they both hurriedly got up and followed her into the living room. She would almost have been offended if she weren't that happy to spend time with them and just laugh and laugh.

For a moment, her insecurities were far away.

As they should be.

* * *

In the living room, June switched on the TV—background noise, something he and Hana had in common that Thomas had grown used to despite his need for silence— while she talked with Thomas about what he had planned for dinner.

"I wanted to make something simple," he told her. "I saw a recipe online for cheesy hash browns. I thought with some chicken it could be nice."

She nodded, staring as he pulled the ingredients out of the fridge and the cupboard. "How much do you plan to use?"

"The recipe says four potatoes, but I think they're tiny." He closed his hand on one of them. It was a tiny potato, much smaller than the ones in the video. "And we'll be four people tonight, so I think I'll just… triple the ratios."

She arched her eyebrows. "Okay." And she kept staring. "Don't mind me, I'm just watching."

June snickered behind them. "You better be careful, you've got a gourmet critique judging your work, babe," he threw while he pulled some plates from the cupboard.

Tom grumbled something, flustered. But he didn't waver, instead explaining what he was going to do while she browsed through the food on the counter. "I'm just gonna grate the potatoes in cold water, remove the water, then add grated cheddar, eggs, and butter." She looked pointedly at him. "And seasoning. I mean, parsley, garlic, salt, pepper. You know."

Her eyes fell on the little glass bowl in which he had cut the butter in pieces. She narrowed her eyes. "Just how much butter do you plan to use?"

"… Is it too much?"

"Your hash browns won't hold if you put too much butter," she explained calmly. "They'll just become potato pancakes."

He blinked, seemed to hesitate, then opened his mouth: "Can you help me then?"

And she grinned. "If you're ready to bear with my pestering, then sure."

"Whatever it takes to make him learn," June chimed in from the other side of the room, retrieving a bottle of juice from the reserves.

"Shut up," Thomas mumbled. Then, to Hana: "I can bear with your annoying ass anytime. Now's no exception."

She chortled. "Let's do it then."

So she watched him while he started preparing the food. From time to time, she would give him advice on how to peel his potatoes—"Oh my God, just how the hell do you think you're peeling that poor potato? End its suffering!"—or comment on the way he grated them—"Just tell me you have better stamina than that when you give handjobs," a comment that made June hold his sides laughing while Thomas bit his lips in an attempt not to do like him.

Then, Hana took the wheel herself. She took the cheese and grated it as Thomas watched, dutifully taking notes while she turned a big square of cheddar into confetti in no time.

"Go on Hana," June said, sneaking behind his boyfriend to kiss him on the neck. "Show him how to give proper handjobs. I'm begging you."

"Yeah, show him what I'll do to him with that grater if he keeps being so rude," Thomas had fired back with his trademark death glare.

After which she had laughed and June had promptly escaped, wincing at the threat.

Once the cheese was no more than a pile of strings, she let Thomas whisk the eggs in—"There are so many eggshells in there I could _walk_ on them, Tom!"—microwave the butter, and add the seasoning—"I promise you don't need that much salt. I _promise_."

She helped him mix the ingredients in the bowl and shape the hash browns on the baking plate that would go in the oven.

(They may or may not have had a laughing fit after she purposely drew a penis with the mixture on the plate, but that was just a proof of her maturity, of course.)

And then they put the plate in the oven.

But unfortunately for Thomas, Hana wasn't done with him. She kept commenting as he cut the chicken—"Tom, that chicken is already dead and yet I can feel it begging for death."— in his clumsy manner and cooked it. The truth was, she wasn't sure how he could bear with her because she would have smacked her own self for being an annoying ass long ago. But rather than being offended, he just quietly smiled and corrected his manners with her helpful-although-kinda-rude-ish advice.

"It's like having Jordon Ramsès at home," June joked, hanging around while she showed Thomas how to 'season his chicken without poisoning his guests'.

And he was pretty damn right. She did feel like a demanding chef bossing their apprentices around and getting appalled at their grotesque clumsy mistakes.

Yet Thomas seemed to appreciate the lesson. Apart from the occasional eye roll that was so characteristic of him, he never complained. When they were done, wrapping tinfoil around the plates to keep them warm until Killua arrived, he even tightly hugged her and kissed her cheek. "I feel like I've learned more in one hour than I have in two years," he mused.

"About cooking or giving handjobs?" June joked. Then, as Thomas glared at him. "What? I'm just asking. She rocks at both."

"How would your gay ass know?" Thomas mumbled.

June flashed white teeth. "We can ask Killua later."

She flushed red. "Anyway, the dessert," she changed the topic. "Killua's gonna bring something so we could just make something small. How about some cupcakes?"

Thomas pointed toward her. "Give me your recipe." He turned toward June next. "And you come help us instead of watching us, you moron."

"Aye, aye."

She scoured their cupboard, pulling out the ingredients. "Take some butter, I've got the flour." Then, she went for their fridge. "Did you buy some mascarpo—"

Words coming from the TV interrupted her.

"— _reports about the Whisper—_ "

She froze.

Her eyes darted to the TV, taking in the picture of a reporter in a street frowning at the camera. The mood in the room dropped as the atmosphere filled with unspoken tension, each word of the reporter weighing on them.

" _Our sources confirm that it has been a week since the last time the Whisper struck. While it is still recommended to avoid staying alone, whether at home or in the streets, the uncharacteristic lack of activity in the last few days from the criminal after a critical increase of victims is worrying the specialists. With the HCDS at its weakest after an unsolved attack that caused a grand total of thirty-eight dead and one-hundred and three injured, including twenty in a grievous state, the local communities in Megamshill do not know who they can trust their protection with. Our Mayor—_ "

June's arms suddenly snaked around her waist and he carried her away while Thomas muted the TV. "Hey!" she exclaimed, her bubble popping.

"No Whisper, it's bad for your diet of Good Health and Happiness!" June replied.

She chuckled as he let her down. "I can hear about the Whisper without breaking down, you know."

"Explain to me how you went from Jordon Ramsès to a hypnotized widow in one second, then?" Thomas piped in.

"…"

June nodded. "Yep, just what we thought."

"Did anything change?" Thomas risked, eyeing the TV. "About the Whisper?"

"They assigned the case to Noor," she sullenly said, and it earned her two shocked faces. "Yeah, I know. I had this reaction too; the vice-president is ruthless. But—on my side there's not much. I found some stuff, eventually I'm gonna have to share them, but I'm not willing to get involved just yet."

"You don't have to get involved," Thomas furthered. "You don't have to do it again. No matter what they say."

She offered a reassuring smile. "I'm okay, I swear. I still have nightmares, but they're less powerful. I think—I'm getting better."

Both Thomas and June smiled at her last statement. Two warm smiles that reflected hers, full of hope at last after the collapse.

She cleared her throat then, turning back toward the fridge. "Mascarpone," she said, returning to the recipe. Without a word, they helped her make the cupcake batter, and never mentioned the Whisper again.

They were pouring the batter in tiny paper cups when the doorbell rang.

Hana almost dropped the bowl at the sound, turning excited eyes toward the door as June went open it.

And sure enough, that excitement increased tenfold when she saw who it was.

Killua. In all his splendor. Clad in his grey skinny jeans and red Doc martens and that maroon t-shirt that contrasted so well with his skin, with the striking blue of his eyes.

(And he had brought a little basket of macarons.)

"Hey there," he casually greeted as June closed the door behind him.

June patted his shoulder. "Yo. Thanks for coming." He grinned as Killua offered the basket of macarons. "And thanks for that, wow!" He examined the macarons, picking one. "They look—"

"That's for the _dessert_ , June," Thomas interrupted before he could gobble the pastry.

And of course, June sighed and whined. "What a mood-killer."

Killua turned toward her then. Smiling the way he did when she looked too excited—which she definitely looked at the moment. After all, she _was_ going to spend the entire evening with her three of her best friends—one of whom being the boy she was so desperately in love with. "Missed me?" he teased, and sure enough, she shoved the bowl in Thomas's hands and rushed in Killua's arms for a hug.

"Awww, little koala is all warm and fuzzy," June said in a singsong voice.

She stuck her tongue out at him—Killua was still watching her with a fond smile. "For real, I've only been away for two hours," he said.

"I don't care! I missed you!"

He quickly kissed her while chuckling—a 'hello' kiss, just something soft and fleeting to greet her—then they broke the hug. She was craving more of him—and his lips—but at the same time she wasn't too keen on public displays of affection. Neither was Killua. Even if Thomas and June were her closest friends, she felt embarrassed at the thought.

A loud rattling noise coming from the kitchen made her flinch out of her thoughts. She darted her gaze toward Thomas, who was carrying the plate of cupcakes to be baked, with the empty bowl of batter at his feet—along with a bunch of… stuff that didn't belong on the floor. He stared at them wide-eyed, immobile. Not a word was uttered.

Until June sighed. "Babe, this is why you shouldn't stay alone in the kitchen."

"But I—"

"Yes, yes."

Killua followed him. "Let me help."

And with that, they all started the Cleaning Thomas's Mess mission, picking up used bowls and spoons and sweeping the flour and wiping the eggs from the floor.

They served the food at the dining table then, both couples facing each other, while the cupcakes cooled down.

And they dug in.

* * *

Thomas's cheesy hash browns were a success. But what Killua mostly noticed was the face Thomas pulled when they all took seconds.

He asked a ton of questions too. "You're not dying?" "How is the taste?" "It there too much butter?" "Or perhaps too much egg?" "Do you feel the cheddar? I feel like it's tasteless…" and other insecurities.

"I think they're good," Killua honestly said, gobbling yet another hash brown. "No need to stress."

"Trust Killua, he never sugarcoats his comments," she informed, with perhaps a little bit of amusement. He supposed she hadn't forgotten the time he had bluntly insulted the pineapples on her pizza.

(Killua was categoric: pineapples did _not_ go on pizzas. Never. Ever. Half of his debates with Hana revolved around that but he wouldn't have any other way.)

(Also, he had bought a 'It's Tomato and Cheese, NOT Tomato and Pineapples' t-shirt just to annoy her. The shirt was designed by a gay artist who copyrighted homophobic statements and mocked them so they couldn't be used anymore, so there was that too. Killua would never pass an opportunity to prove he was right while pissing off homophobes.

Oh, Hana's response? Buying a 'White Chocolate is SIN' shirt from the same artist. And thus had started the War of T-shirts at home.)

Thomas examined his food, as though he were trying to find the one tiny eggshell that would prove he was actually a lousy cook and they were all lying to him. "They wouldn't have been edible without your help."

She shrugged. "No, but that's how you learn."

"When we first met you said you were a bad cook," Killua started, looking at Thomas. "And that you were shy. So far, none of these seem true to me. Unless I conveniently show up when you're having powerful moments?"

June chuckled. "Trust me, he _is_ a lousy cook. I have to bear with whatever experiments he'll try when he's motivated to cook."

Thomas rolled his eyes—Killua couldn't stop staring at how blue they were. It was intriguing, the stupefying vibrancy of their color. Just sheer turquoise. "You do show up when it's convenient," he mused. "And about me being shy, well… that's usually true. It's worse than just shyness. People give me anxiety."

"You don't seem so anxious around me," Killua said.

Thomas blinked. "You make me feel at ease. Not sure why. Some people are like this. Hana and June were like this too."

"It's weird. I've been told I looked intimidating from afar. Some people went as far as telling me I looked like an asshole."

"Savage," June scoffed.

But Thomas just widened his eyes. "Really? You didn't look that way to me."

"I make him look soft and fuzzy," Hana mused, raising big puppy eyes toward him.

He smiled, enticed by her joy. He wasn't sure what was so great but she was overjoyed. More so than the first time he had met her friends.

(Not that he would complain. Overjoyed Hana was one of his favorite Hanas. With the bright eyes and the brighter grin and the freckled cheeks that turned red with excitement. She made him feel so cheesy. Cheesier than the cheesy hash browns he had gobbled up since the beginning of the dinner.)

"I don't think it's just that," Thomas mused. "You showed me Lynd too, and I found her hella intimidating. She was nice but I still felt anxious around her."

June arched his eyebrows. "Might have to do with the fact that, I don't know, she's the police chief _and_ a badass motherfucker. And she's older than us, with a stable job, a fiancé, a high position, and great responsibilities." He tilted his head. "I find that intimidating. Makes you think about your own future."

"They settled together, she and Jino," Hana added. "You wouldn't believe they're engaged when you see them at work."

June smiled. "Took them long enough."

Killua took another serving of chicken. "I'm still confused," he continued where Thomas left. "I have a stable job too. I'm a _hunter_. How are you not intimidated by that?"

"Don't ask how my brain works, I don't know."

Killua gave him a long look. "How do you adjust? People often have a hard time with hunters."

"I'm not entirely stranger to it," Thomas informed. His face was serious. "My dad used to work as a special agent. Not exactly a hunter but—he did have to associate with a lot of them. Violence and special missions, all that kind of stuff, it's always been low key a part of my life. He'd occasionally come home with an arm in his cast or a bruised, battered face—when he wasn't confined in a hospital." He glanced at Hana then. "And when your best friend trains to become Wonder Woman, you sort of get used to it. All that nen thing, your special abilities, your responsibilities… you're part of another world, but I've glimpsed into that world. I can't say it doesn't scare me, but I'm used to it. That window into your world."

"Makes sense," Killua admitted. He turned toward June then. "What about you? Isn't it weird for you?"

"The hunter stuff?" He scoffed. "My father's scarier than any monster you guys will fight off. And he's perfectly human. So your world doesn't intimidate me. I know about violence, and our society is ugly enough as it is with the scum that teems here and there. So you tell me some guys have powers and do badass shit I'm just like, okay, whatever. Your world is just different."

"Sometimes that difference is used to do horrible stuff," Hana chimed in. Killua looked at her, and she was serious, a hard edge in her gaze. Evidence of what she had seen, what _he_ had seen. The smokes nen user and his blurry motivations. The mercenaries that annihilated Elias's family. The Phantom Troup and their hunter members who used hunter resources to accomplish their deeds. Hisoka and his murderous goals. And his family. "The association doesn't regulate that. Hunters can commit any crime without paying for them. Rogue hunters only lose their reputation, but not their titles."

June shrugged, but something hard had lodged in his eyes. "You think my father paid for what he did to me? To my mother?" Killua frowned, curious, but didn't breach June's privacy. "Our world is just as ugly. With the underground doing their nasty business, and all these traffickers making money off people's misery. Without even going that far, you can't count all the abused kids, the bullied kids, the people who have nowhere to go. You don't need to be a hunter or to have your powers to be a monster. Humans are full of shit anyway. And all these rogue hunters—they're not bad because they're hunters. They're bad because they're human beings."

Killua slightly widened his eyes at June's words. The hardness in June's voice was so unexpected, he who was always so light-hearted, so pleasant and carefree. They spoke of personal experience, with an edge of loneliness that Killua could feel as if it were his own. The loneliness of a child who grew up in abuse, normalized violence, fed it to his nightmares.

He could recognize it because he was just the same.

"Still, I have faith in humans," Killua argued calmly. He thought of Gon's bright gaze, of Leorio's warmth, of Kurapika's patience. He thought of Alluka's joy, of Omma and Baa's hospitality. Of Mag, with his quirky experiments and his dad jokes, the closest thing Killua had to a father. Of Maya's helpfulness and Mina's thoughtfulness. He thought of Ikalgo running after him in that alley, of Zushi's determination when they fought in that arena, of Wing's calm when he taught them the rudiments of nen. Of Aunt Mito and Grandma, welcoming him like family, because in a way they _were_ his family.

He thought of the janitor when she told him about the basketball court and about Hana. Of Natsu's motherly aura, Lenaic's quiet presence, Allan's praise. 'A gem, that boy.' Of Saif, who had healed him and joked minutes after meeting him, who had strived to help more people even after learning his daughter had died. He thought of David, agonizing with a nen curse, on the brink of death, counting how much time he had to live to help the living fight the curse. He even thought of Faem, asshole extraordinaire, thanking him right after he saved his wife, crying of relief that she had made it.

He thought of June and Thomas, welcoming him in their cocoon and treating him like a friend, sharing and trusting him even though they had no idea who he was. Of Elias, who had lost so much and fought so many demons, slowly opening up to them, _for_ them.

And he thought of Hana. Her unconditional love, her everlasting support. Her joy and her light and her hope. The way she saw beauty in everything. The care she put in everything she did. And always, that life bustling in her.

He smiled. "Yeah. I still have faith in humans. In humanity. I've seen some fucked up shit but—" he glanced at Hana, at her big green eyes, full of curiosity, staring at him. The little pout on her lips when she was curious, the freckles he liked to kiss. "I've also seen a lot of beauty. I like to believe in that."

She blinked, blushing a little. And she returned a smile with one of her own. A little shy, a little overwhelmed, but so pleased.

June was smiling too, perhaps a bit with hope. Then, he turned a sullen gaze toward Thomas. "Why do you never look at me like that?"

Thomas simply stared back with disbelief. "Give me a reason to."

They laughed together as they finished the dinner, with June joking about he wished he had a sweeter boyfriend and Thomas shutting him down.

But though they kept bickering, Killua didn't miss the hand Thomas rested on June's thigh, or the soft touch on his arm, or his gentle gaze when he thought Killua or Hana weren't looking. 'Are you okay?' it seemed to say. He didn't either miss the way June looked back in those moments. The gratitude that Killua could relate to so much, when he thought of his friends, of Gon, of Alluka. Of Hana 'I'm lucky to have you,' it said, a confession worth all the love letters.

And it moved him deep. Those meaningful glances, those soft touches. That tenderness, and that love.

That was what made him believe. In hope, in love, in compassion.

In humanity.

* * *

 **8:45 P.M.**

" _I've seen a lot of beauty."_

Killua's words echoed in her head. On and on, a song playing on repeat until every fiber of her hummed it along. The melody of the moment was stuck in her mind. His gaze full of longing, full of love, as he met her eyes. The beauty of his smile. The quietude in his eyes, a piece of a winter sky. Pure, clear, cloudless.

Even long after the dinner was over, while Killua was discussing music with June, her mind was still singing. Somehow, she knew that moment, that instant when he lad looked her, would end up in her collection of sacred moments with him.

She hoped that collection would keep growing.

"Hey guys, and the one hot girl!" June called as he stood up from the dining table. "You wanna play a game?"

She clapped excitedly her hands—June called that the 'sea lion clapping move'. "The Ultimate Mashup!"

He smirked, Thomas sighed, and Killua simply looked confused. "What's that?" he asked.

"The best game you have ever seen," she informed, eyes gleaming with impatience.

"So like, the game is something we made up," June started as he brought a colorful box with a lid and put it on the table. "Inside there are a bunch of questions that we wrote. Some are truths, some are dares, some are completely random shit, some are not even questions—blame Hana for that."

"Blame Hana for all the sexual questions too," Thomas furthered. "The girl's in a constant state of horniness, her mind is stuck in the gutter."

"Oh my God, shut up. I didn't write in that many lewd questions!"

"All the dick jokes are you, Hana," June said. "Even _I_ didn't yield to the temptation."

Killua smirked. "Not that I mind," he commented, smirking at her—she would have smirked back if she weren't busy being petty. "Sounds fun. I'm in." He nodded toward the markers, pencils, and white sheets that Thomas distributed to them. "What's that then?"

"Some questions can require you to draw. Some others are mini-contests," Hana explained. "It's like Truth & Dare and Pictionary and pretty much a little bit from all our favorite games stuck together."

"We came up with that when we couldn't agree on what game to play," Thomas said.

Killua nodded. "And what do we win?"

"Nothing, just fun," Thomas said. "You want to add a prize?"

Hana batted her eyelashes. "A kiss from the maiden," she said in a dramatic voice.

"No one wants to kiss you here. Except for Killua," Thomas threw.

Killua pretended to make a disgusted face. "What? No."

She showed her most outraged face, earning three exploding laughs from the boys. Killua kissed her on the cheek then as she feigned to pout. "I'm kidding," he said while chortling.

"You're all so mean to me. I'm gonna sulk."

June just took a paper from the box as she turned around to sulk. "First question: what's your favorite Disney—"

She whipped around so fast she forgot she was supposed to be offended. "MULAN!"

"Good, she's back," Thomas joked.

With that, June quietly put the paper back in the box while staring at her, flashing that same toothy grin he always did when he was pleased with himself.

She narrowed her eyes, but didn't comment on her ineffective sulking.

"The game interacts with everything," June finished explaining. "Hence the juice. Some questions will ask you to take a shot every time something happens, or if you agree to something, or whatever."

Killua nodded. "Do you always do it with juice?"

"Usually we have alcohol, but a certain person here is banned from anything remotely alcoholic until further notice," Thomas said with a glare in her direction—that she promptly ignored.

June snickered. "Last but not least, if a question makes you uncomfortable, we can pass. It's no use getting awkward over a game. The goal is just to have fun and get to know each other."

"And talk about our outrageous stories," Hana added with a nudge in Killua's direction.

" _Your_ outrageous stories," Thomas corrected.

June sat down. "Okay, shall we go?"

"Let's do this," Killua said, sitting straight.

As the youngest in the group, Thomas was the first to pick a question. "If you could say something to your thirteen-year-old self, what would you say?" He arched his eyebrows. "Starting strong."

"I'd say, 'you're gay and you're okay,' definitely," June started. "Should be a slogan, huh?"

"I'd say 'everything will be fine'," Killua went next. He didn't comment on it, instead turning toward Hana. "You?"

"'You're stronger than you think,' I think."

"You're all so inspirational and heavy," Thomas said. "All I can think of is 'math does get worse so don't slack' or something."

Killua chuckled. "Right, you're not a math guy. Which means Hana is the only math nerd in the room." He eyed her with amusement.

"You say you hate math but you're really good at it," she argued. She couldn't count all the times he'd just whipped out some mental arithmetic out of nowhere faster than a calculator.

He shrugged. "I'm good at so many things; can't possibly like all of them."

"The smugness," June said. "I can feel my own smugness bending in front of such confidence."

"Am I the only modest person here?" Thomas asked with disbelief. He passed the box to his boyfriend, heaving a sigh as they snickered.

June read out his question. "Everyone draws a flag. Go!"

Without further ado, they took their markers and each doodled a flag on their sheet. When they were done, they looked at the results.

June widened his eyes at Killua's flag. Hana bent toward him, examining it. It was made of three stripes—pink, yellow, and cyan. "Isn't that the pan flag?" June inquired.

"Yep. It's my flag, the prettiest out there. And the first one I thought of."

"I had no idea," June said.

"Ha, I knew and you didn't," she chanted.

June waved her off. "What's even your flag anyway?"

She pushed the sheet closer to him. "It's the flag of the Hunter Association. The two X's interwoven together."

"That porn logo?!" June exclaimed. "It's so boring! Your guy just _came out_ with his flag and you're… drawing porn Hunter flags."

"It's not boring!" She nodded toward his flag. "What's yours? A country? I've seen it before."

June grinned proudly. "Pilipinas. My father's Sahertan but my mom's Filipina." He leaned back. "My second name is actually Makisig. And you know what Makisig means?"

"What?" Killua asked.

And of course, June had to boast that smug smile of his. "Means 'handsome'. Fitting, right?"

"Very," she agreed, and the little smile he cracked was the most adorable sight.

"I knew I could count on you," June said with a wink in her directions.

"Always, darling. Always."

Thomas rolled his eyes. "They're back to being married." He moved his sheet toward them. "Anyway, you haven't seen my flag."

Killua frowned. "It looks like the ace flag, but not quite it."

Thomas smiled at the comment. "It's the demi flag. It's not very well-known but it means a lot to me." He rose shy eyes toward Killua. "Not a lot of people know that."

Killua simply smiled. "I'm privileged then." He pointed toward the flag. "So I take you're demi, then?"

"Yep. And in that room—" he gestured around them, "—are the two only people I've ever been attracted to."

The two people in question fist-bumped while Killua chortled. "So I'm the only one in this room you haven't kissed at some point."

"Pretty much," Thomas agreed.

"You're missing out," June whispered, to Killua.

"Don't tempt him, he's mine," Hana whispered back, to June. Killua rested his hand on her thigh then, thumb stroking her for a moment before she took the box. "Okay next question." She plunged her hand in the box, rummaging through the pieces of paper, and extirped one folded piece. Heat surged in her face as she read the question. "Oh my God," she breathed, cheeks hot as she put the box away.

"What? Did you stumble upon one of _your_ questions?" June teased.

She mumbled something that was supposed to be 'I'm such an idiot' but sounded more like a mess of half-eaten words. "Truth: do you like oral sex?" she read out, then buried her face in her hands. "Just what was I _thinking_ when I wrote this question?!" she whined while June snickered and Killua stared at her with a gaze so intense she felt it without even looking.

And of course, June wasn't done laughing. "Hey, hey, you get a taste of your own medicine! What, you're embarrassed because your boy is here?"

"Why?" Killua simply said. "It's okay. You can tell me."

Thomas chuckled. She was aware her face was probably stoplight red, and part of her didn't get why because she had had countless conversations about sex with her friends—and even with Killua, whose likes and dislikes she was always so curious about. But said like this, with Killua's eyes riveted on her like, like _he'd do it to her_ if she wanted him to, and her friends staring expectantly—and making fun of her because it was one of the questions _she_ had written… that was a lot to take.

She sighed. "Yes. I do like it," she mumbled—and something switched in Killua's gaze. Something like ideas. Ideas she was more than ready to hear when they got home.

"Nice," he just replied—the warmth in his voice was pure pleasure to her. There was a sultry edge to it, something that only she could hear because she knew that was how his voice sounded when he kissed her, when he touched her, when he bit her lips or slipped his hands under her shirt at her request. "Tell me more about it later."

And of course, after those last words, June exploded laughing and a fuse broke in her head. It was what it was—an open invitation, casual but real. "I think you gave him ideas, Hana," June teased—though he was totally right. She felt it. She knew it. And the thought, perilous and delicious as it was… it shot through her. Slashing want that left her with a very inconvenient squirming—and a head full of beautiful sins.

"Next question," she urged, passing the box to Killua, ignoring the way he looked at her. And ignoring the itching need to touch him. And— _trying_ to ignore the recurrent question in her mind, 'what will happen when we get home?' Because if she paid attention to it, she wouldn't be able to focus on anything else except her impatience to be home and find out.

Killua fished inside the box. With his focus directed on something else, Hana started relaxing, letting the heat die down. But little did she know she was far from being done with the rush of feelings.

"My turn then," Killua announced before he read his question. "Bottoms up if you've already wanted to kiss a girl."

"Ha, my turn to sit back and watch," June joked, while both Killua and Thomas finished their glasses of juice. ("This is all your fault, Hana," Thomas had mumbled before taking his glass.)

But then, without thinking, Hana finished her glass, too. When the question had been asked, it had seemed so natural to her, she wasn't even sure she had thought it through. Memories danced in her mind—being fifteen and fumbling around Ophelia, being seventeen at a bar with her mind locked on this one girl's lush lips, being eighteen with a heart-pounding crush for the pretty girl with a bakery down the street. And the confusion, the denial.

She only realized what she had done when she put the glass on the table and found June's eyes, wide as saucers, staring at her.

It took her a second to process what she had just done—which was, low key come out with a joke—and another for her body to process it. Then, those two fatidic seconds over, her cheeks burnt red and she opened her mouth. "I've thought about it. I mean, I'd—probably do it. Or like—I did that? I mean—yeah. I don't know, I didn't really think…"

Silence ensued.

June wasn't done staring. Even Killua wouldn't look away—his eyes were stuck on her, full of questions but void of reproach. She risked meeting his eye, wondering what could be going over his head at the moment. But then, he just smiled, such a soft smile it soothed the wires of anxiety in her neck.

Thomas was the only one who looked unfazed. Perhaps that had to do with the few times she had mentioned that part of her to him. The part that probably would like kissing a girl, the part with a crush on Ophelia when she was a teenage girl with budding feelings and an awkward, changing body. And the part that denied it all.

Eventually, the topic switched to something else. Nobody brought up again what Hana had just admitted—though June did offer, in private, when they were taking a toilet break, to talk about it if she needed to. She had just smiled and told him she was fine, and he hadn't pressed her. She was thankful for her friends' quiet concern and discretion.

The game, however, never got any calmer. Revelations flew, quirky dares lined up one after the other, laughter erupted every now and then. In a few hours, they all knew more each other than they would have in weeks. Though one would argue a lot of the information they shared was… anecdotic, to say the least. Like the fact that June would insist to wear mismatched socks when he was a toddler. Or that Thomas sulked on all his baby photos—he had shown a picture of him as a tot dressed like a Christmas elf, pouting, with a hat too big for his head, and to this day it was still one of the most adorable pictures Hana had ever seen.

(Which might be why she had this photo on her Wall of Fame. Along with a dozen more pictures of Baby Thomas because Baby Thomas was and would always be the top of her 'baby cuteness' scale. She had set the bar very high for her future kids.)

Some revelations were a little less expected—though nothing quite on par with Hana's secret. For instance, to the question 'what's your favorite animal,' Killua had answered 'bunny'. Why? Because bunnies mean Easter, and Easter means chocolate. Of course. (Though deep down Hana knew Killua's favorite animal was and would always be the dwarf goat who had madly loved him.)

Actually, Killua was the one who had surprised them the most. He never turned down a dare, and confidently faced all the challenges, no matter how ridiculous they were. At some point, one of the dares required him to sing a Disney song, courtesy of Hana. So, he picked the only one he entirely remembered, _A Whole New World_ from Aladdin, because it reminded him of his journey with Gon. (She had argued the song had romantic undertones when he had first told her but he had just brushed her off. Truth was, she secretly wondered if he hadn't crushed on his best friend when he was younger.)

And then he had sung.

And he had blown their minds.

She had always loved Killua's voice. It was deep, clear, pure. Beautiful. She could listen to him talk for hours, and she occasionally heard him humming to himself while he cooked or folded the laundry. But in that moment—it was beyond beautiful. It was silvery and graceful, crystal-pure, with just enough roughness to give the charming imperfection that made it perfect. It resonated in her ribcage as if he sang from there.

When he finished the song, they were all wide-eyed, staring at him with shock and wonder.

"Where did you hide that singing voice?" June asked, an impressed smile on his lips.

"Natural talent," Killua boasted. "No big deal."

" _Yes_ big deal! Holy shit, you just put half of _all_ the singing industry to shame. I'd bet Noor would love to hear you sing."

"Changes a lot from Hana's out-of-tune singing," Thomas mused before hiding behind his glass as he drank.

"Say what you want," she started, grinning at Killua. "I'm too happy to care."

He smiled back—a bit shyly. "Happy?"

"Yes, happy! You're amazing. I mean—wow? It's like I can never run out of things to love in you."

He widened his eyes for an instant before laughing, the legendary blush barely tinting his cheeks. "Wow."

"Aww, he's blushing!" June said loudly, biting his lower lip as if to stop his smile from growing wider. "Seriously, you're both in so deep. So cheesy I could make a fondue."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Killua joked, though he did look away, and that gesture away screamed 'busted!' louder than any confession would. (And he took her hand under the table. Which made her mind go 'ahhhh!' and 'holy shit!' and 'bless this life I'm living because it's the life where I get to hold his hand' and more of 'ahhhh!'.)

They resumed playing then, for long hours. From the occasional typical questions—'what's your favorite dish?'— to the strangest ones—'if you had to become a Looney Tunes characters, which would you be and why?'—to the most outrageous ones—'do you own any sex toy?'.

(The sheer interest in Killua's gaze at this last question had left her feeling overwhelmed. Even more so as disappointment replaced it, when she answered 'no'.)

She never felt time pass. She told them about her grandmother, braided June's hair on a dare, did a handstand for two minutes without moving—then abandoned when Killua tickled her feet, that dirty cheater. She destroyed their ears with _Part of that World_ from the Little Mermaid, challenged Killua for an arm-wrestling battle—and epically lost after they nearly broke the table—, answered all the questions, proudly showcasing her sexual stories while Thomas stared and June clapped and Killua smirked that 'you'll have to show me' smirk.

At some point, she burst out laughing as Thomas choked on his juice and Killua stacked three chocorobots in his mouth and tried to talk. That obviously didn't work. Killua even created some of his own questions, a lot of them being food-related. A walking stomach, that boy.

And mostly, she had fun. She talked, laughed, listened to her friends' stories. She ate the snacks they brought and played until it was so late the birds outside started chirping. Throughout the whole night, she was filled with light, with the warmth of a gentle sun radiating through her chest and into her entire self. Her friends' presence, their care, their love. Their laughter and their shining eyes. They were her sun, her world. They warmed her when the cold prowled.

They made her feel young, when her life demanded she grew up beyond her age.

She had chosen this life. With its dangers and its consequences. She wouldn't give it up for anything. It was in this life she had met her friends, her teacher, her lover. The work she loved so much, through all its complications and implications. The legends and the knowledge and the power she had made hers.

But sometimes, it felt good to remind herself she was young. A nineteen-year-old girl, still allowed to waste an entire night playing games, to gush when the person she loved held her hand, to laugh at dirty jokes.

Still allowed to be vulnerable, and oblivious, and silly, and cheerful. To giggle at nothing and cry at Disney movies and crave hugs and eat cereals at 2 A.M. and order Happy Meals just to get the toy.

She was still allowed to be young.

* * *

 **A/N:** Do any of you know Sarah Andersen? She published a book where you'll find a compilation of her work "Adulthood is a Myth" and I relate to it so much. It's so nice to tell yourself that even as you grow up, there are people like you who… have no idea what is going on lol.

Also, yeah, Hana is not straight. Some of you saw it coming (you know who you are, platypus friend), so I hope you liked it. There'll be more about that later on. I love the idea of her coming out to her friends and soon-to-be-boyfriend. Spoiler alert: Killua will be a sweetheart with her, considering he's like her (though even if he weren't he would have been a sweetheart, that's just Killua. Whoever started the trope that Killua was an abusive asshole clearly doesn't know how much kindness that boy has in himself.)

Also, for those wondering, Killua's voice is basically Soraru's. Check his songs, they're so good (I love his voice).

I hope you liked the chapter! I'll see you next time, hopefully not too late, for The Big One that some of you have been impatient for ever since they heard there would be sex. Which, I remind, I warned you about in the prologue, but I'll put warnings so that those of you who prefer to avoid sexual content (a completely respectable choice) don't feel left out.

Now let me know what you think about this chapter, I can't wait to see your reactions!

Next chapter is called **More than Anything** , and it's pretty fun. There's an excerpt below, as usual.

Until then, see you!

* * *

 _The rain was pouring hard, cold waterfalls freezing their bones and droplets big like marbles bouncing on the pavement. They ran from the portal to the building, shouting louder than the thunder to be heard._

 _But as they were about to reach the main gate, she stopped and caught his arm, and as he swiveled to look at her, she kissed him._

 _Just like that._

 _Confusion morphed to surprise and surprise to pleasure. He brought her closer, resting a firm hand on the small of her back while the other raced up her back, guessing how her body felt under the drenched fabric. She tugged at his wet roots, the urgency in the gesture heating his body numb from the rain. He tipped his head and she sighed against his lips, keeping him close, closer. And they moved together— hands and mouth and tongues and_ bodies _, fervent and passionate and perhaps a little bit in need of some warmth in the freezing rain._

 _Because, yes, the rain was still pouring hard, and they were kissing under the cold waterfalls and the droplets big like marbles._


	30. More than Anything

**A/N:** Hi guys! It's update day! :D

So first of all, I wanted to thank you for your kind responses to last chapter's concerns. I'm glad you don't mind the longer update times, it really relieves me from a lot of pressure. And a warm thank you to everyone who supports this story and reviewed last chapter, you made me feel so much better :')

Also, a big thank you to **Hei17** who drew a wonderful Hana for me! Thank you Hei, your art is wonderful! You guys can check the beautiful drawing on my profile! You'll also find a drawing of Hanallua I made some time ago, of a scene that happens in a few chapters.

Anyway. Guys. GUYS. WE HIT 300 REVIEWS! Thank you so much, omg I'm just so happy ;A; This is all thanks to you guys who review, so a warm thank you to everyone who's ever left a review on this story, and especially to regular reviewers who never fail to make me feel appreciated :') (It makes me even happier that the 300th reviewer is none other than my beautiful Mars *hugs tight* thank you so much Mars omg it means so much to me! ;-; )

Also chapter 32 is almost done! I've got chapters 30 and 31 done so it's chill. I'm pretty busy lately, but I promise I'll reply to PMs asap!

Anyway, here's the long-awaited, um, hot chapter lol. I'm a bit nervous about publishing this… I hope you guys will like it.

Now go on and dig in!

-X-

 **Warning** : this chapter contains mature-ish content. Skip the scenes **marked with a** **(*)** if you prefer to avoid sexual content.

 **Recommended song** : Talking Body – Tove Lo

* * *

 **Replies to guest reviews:**

 **Guest** : Thank you so much for reviewing! I'm so happy you liked the chapter, and Hana! It means the world when people tell me they like Hana :')

 **Irem** : Hi! omg thank you so much for your sweet review! I'm so sorry you went through a hard time, I hope everything is better now… It really sucks but I'm happy you could take a breather :') Thank you so much for taking the time to review in spite of everything happening!  
You have no idea how touched I am that this chapter made you tear up. I'll never judge you for relating to Hana, I'm incredibly happy you do actually! And as you say, yeah, I do resonate with her and all my OCs a lot. They all have a part of me, sometimes more, so it feels cathartic sometimes to write them (though obviously no serial killer traumatized me, but you get what I mean :'D). It's the highest of praise when you tell me I managed to make you feel something, because that's my job as a writer too—to make you feel stuff with my stories :') So thank you, again and again.  
And keep having fun, Irem. I used to think like you that being an adult meant never having fun, but that's a lie society forged, deep down we're allowed to be young and live and enjoy life too *hugs tight* I hope you'll enjoy this chapter too!

* * *

Chapter 29: **More than Anything**

* * *

 **Saturday, May 30th**

 **4:02 A.M.**

The night was young, an invigorating cold soaking the air. The sky was dark, a cloudless navy sea dotted with stars. Hues of maroon and purple seamlessly mixed in the dark infinite like pigments strewn in a watercolor painting.

A frisky wind swept through the streets, whispering in the trees a sleepy melody. The ruffling of the leaves, the creaking of the branches, the whistling in the bushes. A perfect background music for the crickets' cries, high-pitched and uneven, echoing all around them.

She wasn't drunk that night. She hadn't had a drop of alcohol, though her stomach was gurgling with all the juice she had drunk. But she felt joyous beyond measure, as if she had swallowed a spoonful of these little stars straight from the sky, and the crickets were singing for her, and the fireflies dancing in a graceful round were celebrating for her.

(… Yeah, she was having her very own Disney princess moment, shh.)

"I still can't get over how beautiful your singing is," she mused, her attention flickering between the stars and his hand holding hers—both had the same wonderful effect on her.

He shrugged. "And I still can't get over what you said."

"What I said?"

"That you never run out of things to love about me. You have any idea how corny that sounds?" he said, the corner of his lips tipping up.

"You mean, as corny as loving the way you look up when you're deep in thoughts? Or the way you lean back and cross your legs when you're being professional? _Orrrr_ , the way you get all shy when I compliment you about something important to you or gush about how amazing you are?"

He opened his mouth, fumbling with the words. "Whatever," was the only thing he came up with. She bit back a grin. "… Keep going."

And the grin triumphed. She kissed him on the cheek, giggling, huddling against him as they walked. "Okay. I could talk for hours about all the things I love in you. Like you know, that little blush of yours, when I say something extra cheesy?"

"Hmph."

"Yeah, I love that blush," she mused, sighing. "And the way you sweep up your bangs when you stop to think of where you put a certain thing. And, you see that yo-yo you take with you? Sometimes when you're thinking about something, you play with that yo-yo to keep your hands busy. I love it. And… oh God, the way you instinctively kiss me on the temple when I nuzzle into you, in bed."

"Jesus. You're in so deep," he joked, though he was grinning. Yet another thing she loved about him. She had become a cheese fest ever since she had started falling for his boastful-yet-incredibly-shy ass.

"I am, actually."

That didn't help his clumsy grin. Not the slightest bit. He didn't say anything, simply kept her close, his arm wrapped around her waist. And he smiled, the way he did when he had no idea how to reply to her outburst of affection. (Yes, that too was another thing she loved.)

A moment passed, during which the highlights of their evening rewound in her mind. She thought about them with fondness—when she had helped Thomas cook, when Killua had sung, when they had talked about humanity and hunters. When she had exposed her secret and—

She flinched, the memory hitting her, a cold bucket splashing her whole. "Killua, I—I wanted to talk about something if it's okay. Like, to ask you something."

He took a little longer than usual to answer—and was that tension in his hand? "Sure? Ask away."

"You remember when I—I… There was this question you got, and it said to empty your drink if, you know…"

He relaxed—she didn't. "You mean when you came out."

The words landed right on the target—in her chest, heart missing a beat. "Um."

He flashed a reassuring smile. "It's chill, Hana. You like girls too. So what?"

She didn't know what to say. The words were all there, sitting on her tongue, but too heavy to be spoken. She fumbled, squirmed, mumbled. "I mean—you're not mad?"

"Mad? Mad at you?"

"… Yeah?"

"For what?"

She exhaled sharply. "I don't know."

"Hana," he called again, releasing her, and stopped walking. He caught her hand, peered into her eyes. "You really thought I'd be mad at you? For… being into girls too? Me, a pansexual guy?"

"No—not for that. I mean, I know you're the same, it's just…" She steered herself. "I was worried you'd be offended that I didn't tell you sooner."

They resumed walking, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "You didn't have to. Your sexuality is your business. You don't owe it to anyone. Just because I'm open about mine doesn't mean you have to be about yours—to me or anyone. It's your privacy."

"But it's not that I didn't want to tell you, it's just—I don't know. I only talked about it with Tom, months ago. I never brought it up again. I think in a way I was… afraid to admit it to myself."

He glanced at her. "Afraid? Why?"

"That's what I don't get. My family is very open-minded, so are my friends—when they're not gay themselves. I know I would be safe questioning myself, and yet I… I sort of avoided it."

"We can figure out why if you want to."

She snaked an arm around his waist, staying close. "Is it okay?"

"Sure. We've got time, right?"

She smiled. "Okay. I mean, tonight is the first time I admit it. I think I kinda know why I didn't want to admit it before, but it's blurry."

"Perhaps it's partly because of society," he explained. "Pressure of society, to conform to a certain mold."

She stared at a flock of moths fluttering around the street lights. "It might be one of the reasons, but not quite it. I spent a lot of time in the Hunter community, and it's a lot more open to things like that. I think the issue came from me."

"Tell me, then. Even if it's blurry, you might find some logic as you speak."

"It might be confusing, though," she warned.

"I'll make sense of it. Try me."

She sighed. "I think perhaps I was just, like, scared to discover things about myself. Even something harmless and beautiful like that—part of me feels like it's like breaking a dam to more revelations I'm not ready to hear. More secrets about me than I could take, like they'd drown me."

He was silent for an instant. She eyed him curiously, worriedly—he was frowning, lost in thought. "Did you question yourself before the Whisper?"

She started. "I—a bit. I had this sort of crush on Ophelia and I was starting to question myself about it, but…" She hovered mid-sentence, thrown back into that time. The open doors, the questions, the possibilities. Then, the mission. The failure. The doors that closed. All of it, burnt to the ground.

"But then the Whisper happened," he finished for her. "And you closed yourself off."

"You think that's my issue?" she timidly asked, thinking sadly of how poorly she had treated herself in the past three years. She wished she could go back to that time, pick her old self back up, pull her into an embrace. Stop her from self-destructing. And tell her that she would be okay. Even if it was hard to believe, it was the beacon she would have needed when she had so desperately sought the pieces she had lost to the Whisper's curse.

Again, he glanced at her—as if to make sure she was okay. "Might be. You sound like you clung to this version of yourself—the one that survived the Whisper. You built yourself back up, fixed what you could, found a precarious balance. And then you were afraid to touch what you had built."

"In fear that it would collapse again," she finished in a murmur.

"Yeah."

"It makes sense," she said, her voice getting wobbly. "I keep thinking that if I dig, I'll find something dark. Something self-destructive, or ugly, or filthy. Some bitter monster that survived the Whisper, or some remnant of the old me that turned sour because of him."

"You're not a ticking bomb," he argued softly. "The old you didn't die, and he didn't turn you into a monster. Change can be healthy. What you did tonight, it's courageous as fuck. Remember, a start is all you need."

"I know. I'm kinda proud of myself for at least admitting it to myself—I guess it means I'm ready to dig. And know more about myself, at last." She smiled amusedly, then. "Also, it sheds light on a lot of things."

"It's that moment when you look back on some moments and you think to yourself, 'that was pretty fucking gay'," he joked.

She chortled. "Did you always know?"

"That I was also into guys?"

"Yeah."

He raised his eyebrows. "I didn't always know. But I knew pretty early that I had a thing for boys. My family never said a thing about it—sexuality doesn't matter in the Zoaldyeck mansion, and as long the heir brings heirs, they can do whatever they want. But my first crush was a boy, so eventually, I naturally questioned myself. I didn't put a label on my sexuality until I was seventeen, though. I just knew gender didn't matter to me."

She stayed silent, her mind repeating his words. "Was that boy, your first crush…"

The corner of his tipped up—in understanding or nostalgia, she didn't know. "Gon."

She smiled at his name. "Did you ever tell him?"

"Nah. I wasn't entirely sure of what I felt until it was over. I got over it eventually—and now he's more of a brother to me. But with hindsight, I can tell, now. He was my first love."

"Baby loves are ridiculously cute," she mumbled, pouting a little.

He chuckled. "You're thinking of Tom and you?"

"Yeah. Same thing happened—more or less. The whole baby love, then growing up, moving on. Except, Tom and I knew."

"I never told Gon," Killua admitted. "I realized too late, and we both moved on."

"What if he had felt the same way, though?"

He snorted. "Gon was about as bad as I was with feelings. He never socialized with other kids before me—so all that crushing stuff was as foreign to him as it was to me. And even if he'd felt the same way, I don't think I'd have acted out on my feelings. I was completely closed off. Nothing came out. And Gon was too important to risk losing him."

"That sounds sad, though…"

"Do you think it's sad that you and Tom never got to be together?"

"I—no. But it's not the same, is it?"

"Falling for your very first friend? Never living through those feelings? Growing up apart, then finding yourselves again after moving on? I think that's pretty much the same."

"Tom knew how I felt about him. We kissed, Killua."

"Right, your 'farewell, my love, I'm off to my death journey' kiss," he teased.

She shoved him playfully. "Shut up, I wasn't emo."

"You totally were." He brought her closer. "And I think Gon knew how I felt. He's too perceptive to miss on that. Even if he couldn't put words on that. And he did love me, more than anyone ever had. Perhaps a part of him did have feelings for me, who knows. But I didn't dwell on that. Never have, never will."

"Why not?"

"Because it's in the past."

"You never feel like a part of you is still anchored in the past?" she asked, glancing at him with curious eyes.

His eyelids twitched. "Some parts of me are. But not this one. The love I have for Gon—even if it's not romantic anymore—makes me feel at peace. He's my family. A loud and embarrassing brother I found on the way."

She brushed his jaw with her lips, lingering for a short instant. "I love the way you think."

He squeezed her shoulder. "Hana, if you ever want to talk about what you feel for girls, you know I'm here for that, right?"

"I know. Right now I'm kinda overwhelmed, but I might drown you with questions later…"

He patted his chest proudly. "Sure. I'll gladly be part of your gay awakening."

She giggled. "Are you even for real?"

"Very real and very cool, pure Killua quality," he bragged, showcasing his trademark smirk.

"You're done being cute, I suppose?"

"I'm always cute." He glanced at her then. "My turn to ask you a question, now."

Her head perked up at his words. Somehow, she felt like she would both hate and love what he would say next. "What question?"

"During the game," he started, looking up at nothing as he worded his thoughts. "When you got your first question…"

"Oh God," she let out, rewinding the embarrassing moment. She had picked one of her own questions, a sexual and private one, the fruit of her own making. "I was dreading the moment you'd ask…"

"It did make me wonder. Why didn't you skip it? You were clearly uncomfortable. Why didn't you just pass like June said?"

She flinched. At his words, at her thoughts, at what she wanted to say. The moment roiled back into her mind, the perilous need to let him know, somehow, some way, what she wanted.

"Um…"

"Um?"

She fidgeted with the hem of her top, looking away. How could she say _that_ out loud? She wasn't used to… to not being shameless. Yet she couldn't say it. What she wanted, what she needed. She couldn't say it. What if it made him uncomfortable?

"I just…" she tried, but her voice died somewhere between the words.

He stopped walking—released her and looked at her curiously. "Hana?"

Her mouth hung open, searching for the right way to word what had happened—and the strength to expose herself, her desires, her vulnerabilities. "… I wanted you to know. I wanted to… send you a sign, in a way. That's why I didn't skip the question."

"A sign?" he repeated, eyes searching hers. "A sign that you…"

He didn't finish that sentence. He waited for her to talk, to explain herself, but she just stood there. With a furnace for a heart pumping relentlessly in her chest. Her ribcage echoed with every frantic heartbeat, the sound rhythmically pounding in her ears. A reminder, that time was ticking and he was waiting and she had to say something. Something about this want buried in her core.

"I don't know how to say this without completely baring myself and I'm scared of what you'll say," she blurted out. "And I don't even know if now's the time or the place or whatever, I'm just…"

She inhaled. Her voice was too high-pitched, too raw. Stripped of its control, bared for him to see the desire that soaked it. Urgency wove in her words, and she swallowed to slow down, tucking the worry in the back of her mind. Anxiety tensed her neck already.

He touched her, then. A warm hand on her shoulder. "You can say it."

More deep breaths. She thought of the raspy edge in his voice when she had answered the outrageous question. The interest in his eyes—and the promise for more. But what if she had seen too much in it?

Carefully, she rested her hand on his chest. He was a fingertip away, if only she'd pronounce those words. The words to translate the want in herself, the ache for him. How had they even gotten there? One minute they were laughing, the other she was struggling with a need she didn't know what to do with.

"I want you," she blurted out. Without thinking. She had taken a deep breath and jumped and hoped to make it alive when she landed. Biting her lips and searching his eyes for validation, now that she had entrusted this truth to him. "That's—that's all. I had no idea how to tell you, and during the game I just… I was embarrassed but I took the opportunity, and it was a clumsy move but it felt like… like you got the sign. But I mean, it's okay if you don't—"

"Do you mean it?" he interrupted. She shivered at the depth in his voice, the passion smoldering in his eyes as he bore his gaze into hers. His pupils were dilated—his breath hitching ever so slightly.

She opened her mouth to reply.

But then, a raindrop landed on her nose. Then another on his cheek. On her hand. His cheekbone. "Oh no. Nooo."

They both stared at the sky, watching it come undone like dumb spectators. Clouds tore open, torrents poured on them.

And soon enough they were running, cursing as the water seeped into their clothes. The cold water of a May night rain.

"I can't believe even the weather wants to cockblock me!" she shouted through the deluge, and he laughed.

"I don't care what the weather says tonight!" he just replied, and though she was shivering from the cold, heat surged her at the implication.

"Does that mean you—"

"Yes!" he shouted, and she barely heard him through the torrent. But there was no mistaking, no way she could have misheard. And her insides squirmed in delight. Such a simple word, the best reward for her vulnerability.

And she laughed, fighting the cold that gripped her through her soaked clothes. Ran with him until they saw the portal of their building. Fumbled to open it with her slippery hands. And they slipped in.

She crossed his gaze on the way, while they hurried to reach the hall. Even through the dark and the torrents of rain, she felt this urge that only reflected hers. The storm was inside them, roaring with the confidence and surety they had both needed to take that step.

And though Hana was no weather specialist, she did know one good thing about storms: they were untamable.

* * *

The rain was pouring hard, cold waterfalls freezing their bones and droplets big like marbles bouncing on the pavement. They ran from the portal to the building, shouting louder than the thunder to be heard.

But as they were about to reach the main gate, she stopped and caught his arm, and when he swiveled to look at her, she kissed him.

Just like that.

Confusion morphed to surprise and surprise to pleasure. He brought her closer, resting a firm hand on the small of her back while the other raced up her back, guessing how her body felt under the drenched fabric. She tugged at his wet roots, the urgency in the gesture heating his body numb from the rain. He tipped his head and she sighed against his lips, keeping him close, _closer_. And they moved together— hands and lips and tongues and _bodies_ , fervent and passionate and perhaps a little bit in need of some warmth in the freezing rain.

Because, yes, the rain was still pouring hard, and they were kissing under the cold waterfalls and the droplets big like marbles.

They broke the kiss, out of breath, panting and touching their foreheads, their eyes locked and focused. Water trickled on their faces and dropped from the tips of their noses and the curve of their lips. And they just stared at each other and panted, her hands cupping his face and his grabbing her waist.

"That was on your bucket list, wasn't it?" he breathed.

She grinned and nodded vivaciously, her eyes so warm and bright in the cool dark night.

So he kissed her again, fulfilling that wish of hers a second time. He could do it forever. Just kiss her and grin as she laughed against his lips, rainwater mixing with their tongues, their lips meeting and parting again and again. He could do it forever.

A thunder roared and she jolted, breaking the kiss with a strange yelping sound. He laughed and joked about how much of a turnoff that was, but the truth was not even the freezing rain could tame what he felt in that moment. The eagerness of what was about to happen.

They shivered, the effects of their kiss wearing out, and started running again until they were safe and dry.

They both went to her apartment, still talking about what had happened and impatient to do it again, although in a dry place, this time.

And so, the first thing they did when they were done removing their shoes and getting rid of their wet jackets was resuming kissing, touching, laughing. Then, she led him to her room.

And they found a more effective way to warm themselves up.

* * *

He hadn't planned for it to happen. He hadn't planned to crave her that much, so much that nothing made sense in his mind except that desire nestled so deep in himself. Not even the demons, the nasty ones that whispered he could never get things right, he could never make her happy, he had to stop before she got too close to his thorns. None of that made sense.

And then they were kissing against her wall. Fervent, burning with want, with _more_ , with all the things they had tamed for so long. The pull, the longing, the lust. It obscured everything else—outshone the demons the space of a night. There were just her lips, and her body, and her hands in his hair tugging at his roots, and her voice so sweet in his ears while he kissed her neck and held her against him.

And her touch—her _heat_ —consumed him. All of him. He was drunk with her, with her breathless laughs in between their kisses, with the way her eyelids fluttered open when they paused and stared at each other. Both impatient, both high on each other.

"I feel it everywhere," she breathed, palms on his chest, gliding down the sodden fabric of his shirt. "The want."

He gripped her hips, his body pressing against hers. "You wanted an answer earlier," he said, grasping this chance for clarity through the heat. He had to make sure this was what she wanted. Both for her and for him. And to make the demons shut up. "I do want it too. But I don't know if I should."

"Why not?" she asked, cupping his face, and his skin answered to hers like a wick to a spark.

"I'm afraid you'll get too close," he admitted, closing his eyes as she pulled him toward her, resting his forehead against hers.

"But I want to get close."

He opened his eyes. A delicious shiver coursed through him when he saw the confidence in her eyes. The sheer surety, the blazing passion. Her unwavering gaze bore into his soul until spring was all he saw. "Are you sure, Hana?" he still asked.

"I'm sure. I just don't want to think tonight, about anything negative. I—I've hesitated so long, but not anymore." She looked him in the eye, with that light in her eyes that set him ablaze "I want you. I want you like I've never wanted anyone before."

He slowly exhaled. His grip tightened on her hips, tense with controlled impatience. "Say it again."

"I want you," she said without hesitation. "I _crave_ you. More than anything."

He brushed her lips, hovering close, stealing a peck on her mouth. The gears in his mind switched, the wick took fire.

And he repeated her words, again and again. They would be his bible, his guidance for the night. The interlude to the insecurities that plagued him. They would shush the demons, drown them in the light of her fire, the warmth of her spring. Just for tonight. Just for a few hours in her embrace, murmuring her name, having her.

Because he wanted her, too. He wanted her so much it hurt.

He wanted her more than anything.

* * *

 **(*)**

She couldn't believe it was happening.

After all this time entertaining the idea of it, fantasizing about his body against hers, his breath in her ear, his hands undressing her, it was happening.

All at once, everything that had been holding him back had snapped. Here he was, unchained, unleashed passion igniting his touch as he tasted her lips and her neck and her chest while her breath accelerated and her eyes closed with sweet surrender. His hands roamed from her hips to her back, slipping under her shirt, warm hands making a path on her cold skin. The pressure of his palm, the contrast between her soaked clothes and his hot skin, the desperation in his kiss… All of it, building up in herself, kindling this hunger in her.

So she abandoned herself entirely to his touch, to the things it did to her. And she let herself burn. No more controlling her fire. No more keeping her hands off him. No more measure and balance and doubt and hesitation. She could touch him. Anywhere and everywhere. His chest. His back. His taut muscles rippling in his back. His neck and his chest. His sharp cheekbones and his silky hair and his hips and all his discreet tattoos scattered on his body. She could touch him everywhere.

He suddenly broke the kiss, already panting. "You sure you want this?" He breathed, dilated pupils drunk with want staring right through hers. She wondered how he saw her. She wondered if her face reflected half of the lust she felt.

"How many times have you asked this?" she joked. " _Yes_. Are you?"

He grinned. "How did you say it earlier? _More than anything._ And this time we've got all night."

And she kissed that grin with a grin of her own, hands diving to the small of his back, bringing him closer.

Soon, it wasn't a want anymore but a need, a throbbing ache buried deep in herself. Funnily enough, that moment coincided with the moment he was getting rid of his belt. Then, all delicacy was forgotten and a raw, crude thought alone rang in her head while he fiddled with the button of her shorts: she wanted him inside of her. She ached for that so fiercely it hurt. Her hazy thoughts dissolved, leaving her with an immense awareness so acute it overthrew her.

"This is really happening," she found herself saying. Her voice was hoarse, uncontrolled, so blatantly soaked with want. Silk and sandpaper at once. "We're really about to fuck."

He grabbed her thigh, hooking it around his hips, all the while staring into her eyes. "At last," he breathed. "At long fucking last."

She laughed, a sound between a gasp and a laugh. Inhaled deeply as his teeth scraped lightly her neck. Moaned softly, when he pressed onto her, fingers sinking in her thigh. Grinding slowly. Trembling with anticipation. He played with the hem of her shirt, gradually lifting it, and she shivered at the conflicting sensations—warmth of his touch, chilly air against her humid skin. Then, he got rid of her top.

… Or at least he tried to. The lace of the shirt got entangled in her earrings, and soon he was cursing while she laughed, because even when they were about to sleep together, they had to be huge jokes. "Stop laughing," he hissed, still struggling with her earrings. "I'm supposed to be undressing you, not battling your… your earrings."

"Moron," she said, removing her earrings herself. "Defeated by earrings."

"How's that my fault? All that sexy build-up for that," he threw and finished removing her top, letting it drop on top of his own shirt.

(A part of her brain was appalled at the sight—wet clothes on the _floor_?!— but she was too busy craving him to care.)

She nibbled on his lower lip. "There's no earring stopping you from removing your pants, you know," she murmured.

He smirked. One of his hand undid the button of his jean. "I _was_ feeling too tight in those pants," he breathed. His eyes couldn't leave her lips. Her skin was flush with every breath that grazed her cheek, her chin, her nose.

"We don't need them."

With that, they wriggled out of their pants and shorts with breathless laughs because _boy_ they were ungraceful. They let them drop beside them, in the pile of laundry-to-do that she would probably freak out about in a few hours when her brain wasn't locked on the feel of him.

He exhaled in relief when he was free of his pants, settling more comfortably. But if he felt less constricted, she only grew more restless. They were one step away. _One_. Her first instinct was to glare at his boxers, the only obstacle to what she wanted.

But he was taking his sweet time. Led her to the bed. One minute they were standing, kissing, the other he was on top of her—her mind registered that he was kneeling between her legs. The one thought that mattered.

He unclasped her bra then, removing it with surprising delicacy. Brushed her back in a tender caress, switched to her waist where he trailed her scar barring her stomach, leaving sparks and tingles wherever he touched her. A part of her cheered at the sensation—her scar, with its numb skin, making her feel good. Then, both of his hands caressed her breasts. With infinite care. The wonder in his eyes was overwhelming. "You're beautiful," he breathed, staring at her from head to breasts to the tear of her scar on her stomach.

Her heart lurched. "I'm not naked yet. You haven't seen the rest."

Hid fond expression grew mischievous. "You devil."

She cupped his face and guided him to her lips. He hummed, first softly, then more fervently as she pressed her thighs against his hips to bring him closer to her, silently asking for him. His kisses became briefer but deeper and hotter and hungrier. And—he resumed grinding against her, unhurriedly, dawdling so to make her wait, to push her to the edge.

And he was doing a fine job of it because the more he moved against her, the more she felt the painful want strike, lighting jolting through her. She wanted to remove his boxers but somehow all she could do was pant and sigh and fumble with the hem of his underwear, reaching for as much skin as she could.

Eventually, his languid strokes against her laced with more impatience. His pounding heart only echoed her own; she could barely tell whose heartbeats was vibrating through her.

Then, he finally listened to her desperate plea. He tore from her lips, still dangerously close to her, watched her eyelids flutter. "Shall I make you make you wait longer?" he purred, his hands gliding down her legs, his voice so quiet, as though he couldn't afford to speak any louder.

This finished burning her last remnant of patience. She caught his hands before they went too far from her panties and brought them exactly where she wanted them.

(Which was, on her hips. Near her panties.)

"Don't."

"Getting impatient?" he teased, a cheeky smile glinting in his eyes as he intertwined his fingers with the thin fabric of her underwear.

"Just— _fuck me_ ," she demanded. "Please."

"Hmm." He bent over her, decidedly _not removing those damned panties_. "I like when you say that. Say it again."

She puffed her chest with indignation. She was on the brink of going crazy with want, and he was _playing games_. "You're an asshole."

"An asshole you're mad about."

"I'm gonna rip those boxers myself if you don't do it."

"And then strangle me with them."

" _Yes_."

"Who's gonna go down on you then? I heard you _liked_ that."

She gasped.

He didn't let her react. He kissed her senselessly and she forgot she was supposed to be mad at him. His hands started wandering on her body. Tugging at her panties.

Dangerously tugging.

Then he moved to her jaw. Her neck. Her throat. Her chest. Brushing past her breasts. Her stomach. Bumping on every muscle and kissing every freckle. Trailing down her scar, his lips so soft on the puckered skin.

He shifted her on the mattress. Laid a last kiss on her hip and lingered a few seconds.

Before he moved lower.

He cast her a tempting look, a small smile hanging by his lips. That look, she realized, that served as both a question—' _is this okay with you?_ '—and a provocation—' _look how close I am_.' She managed to smile back, but her thoughts were all jostled together in a feverish mess.

"Do it," she finally let out. She barely heard herself. " _Please_."

But he did hear.

And he started.

His mouth on her knee. Teasing her down her inner thigh. Taking his time. Building her impatience. Her anticipation. Her pleasure. Lingering near a beauty spot, far in her inner thigh. She knew he would like it. It was in such a perfect place, this little beauty spot begging to be kissed at the hem of her panties.

Then, he removed her panties. Sliding them down her legs. Throwing them away. Focusing on her again, and she was so acutely aware that she was naked under him, she coiled with eagerness at the thought. He opened her legs and pinned them to the bed, eyes flaring hunger. Bending between her legs.

And finding her.

She exhaled. A long, quiet exhale. Breathing in and out as he moved, rhythmically. As he kissed, sucked, licked. As he grabbed her thighs and pressed against her. She quivered with every flick of his tongue. Every stroke. Every long caress that made her body jolt. And he listened. To her voice, her gasps, her sighs. To every somersault of her body. To her guidance. To every murmur, every sound, every single request.

" _Yes, here. Here it feels so good."_

She drowned her hands in his hair, massaging his scalp as he worked on her. She shut down all her thoughts, forgetting every single thing except his face between her legs and his tongue and his fingers and the wonders they did to her. And strangely enough, though her breath hitched with pleasure and her insides delightfully squirmed under his tongue, she was peaceful. So relaxed. All the tension had evaporated and she lay there on the warm bed with her eyes closed and her fingers caressing his hair and her legs sinking in the mattress like they were a part of it.

She heard herself moan at some point. She didn't control it, couldn't help it. It just escaped her mouth, swiftly, not leaving her a choice. Then, a few sighs followed. A hushed curse formed on her lips. Did he hear it? Did it go past her lips? She couldn't tell. She wasn't sure. She wasn't sure of anything except what she was feeling. Her body clenching and unclenching, her insides twisting in delight. She was faintly aware that she had grabbed one of his hands, that she was squeezing it hard, that she was panting. She heard him moan against her and relished in the sweet jolt lashing through her at this moment, right as she became more aware of how she felt, of her muscles tensing and relaxing repeatedly.

How much time had passed? She wasn't sure. All she knew in that instant was that overwhelming sensation of being close to the edge, of intense pleasure building and building inside her, thoroughly, surely, trudging the thin edge between spark and wildfire, between ripples and tidal wave. The wave retreated from the shore, a wall of water balancing itself on the sand, about to crash at any moment.

All she needed was a slight push. A tiny step. A small flick of his tongue. A pressure of his fingers.

And he gave it to her.

That slight push.

That tiny step.

That small flick of his tongue.

He gave it all to her and her whole body clenched as she cried out. A long, long clench. Trapped in bliss. Trapped in that strange awareness of this intense pleasure washing through her, of the way her body felt, of her entire physical self and all the things roaming through her and the way she hovered on top of herself in a world where nothing existed except her for a short moment. The heat in her core and the slow throb inside of her and the drizzle of shivers all over her body and the sparks and tingles tickling her from head to toe and the euphoria bursting from her chest as though the stars she had swallowed were exploding within her.

She threw her head back, arching her back, bending under the bliss. Her hand tightened around his own without letting go. Her muscles contracted, enlivened by the heat. He gripped her thigh as she wriggled on the bed, ready to burst out of her skin.

She took a deep breath. Exhaled. Inhaled. Exhaled. Once. Twice. Thrice. And again. And again. Faster. _Faster_. Quicker, smaller breaths. Quicker. Quicker. _Quicker._

Until they died out in one last long sigh.

And she relaxed. Her legs sprawled on the bed, her limbs heavy and tired. She slowly emerged from her bubble, catching her breath, hyper-aware of the way her body responded. The pulse in her muscles. The beat in her veins and her neck and her temples and always, always, that sweet throb of pleasure deep inside of her, beating in sync with all of her.

And again, she merged with the mattress. Absent. Dizzy. High, even. With a nebulous head and eyelids that weighed tons. Her body hummed with the exquisite memory of the climax.

She was still holding his hand.

When she opened her eyes, he was watching her, catching his breath. Just as dizzy and high as she was. He licked his lips and wiped his chin with his thumb.

"I can't feel my legs," she murmured, beckoning him to move closer to her.

He lay next to her, patiently waiting for his turn. "In a good way?"

She pressed her legs together. They were sore from the position on the bed. "Hmm. In the best way."

She let herself fall back on the bed, ran her hands on her face, and tried to sit. She turned toward him.

He was still wearing those _insufferable_ boxers.

He blinked. "What?"

She leveled his gaze. She probably looked a little crazy, with disheveled hair and bright red cheeks and a little hazy look in her eyes. "Do we need some kind of transition?" she asked.

"For?"

She straddled him, gently pushing his back to the bed. "Your turn."

He smiled. "I thought you'd need to rest."

"I've rested. Now I want to make you come. I want to _watch_ you come."

He ran the back of his fingers on her thigh, stopping by her hips. And he grabbed her and rolled on top of her, pinning her arms down. "I want to be on top."

"Why?" she asked, and her body already asked for more. An air of power and confidence surrounded him. She felt herself grow soft for him.

"Because I want to lead the dance."

"What if I do too?"

He smirked. "Next time. We'll have plenty of time. But for now," he started, parting her legs with his knee, "it's my turn."

* * *

 **(*)**

You never knew just how much you wanted something until the exact moment you got it.

Perhaps it was better that way; if he had really known just how much he craved her, the desire would have been unbearable. Even when he was about to have her, even when she was naked below him, ready to take him, it was still torture. Because it wasn't happening just yet and there were a thousand steps—actually just two, but it was all the same to him—before it could really happen. He had to, first, remove his boxers, an excruciating long task, and then, look for condoms in his wallet.

Two painstakingly long tasks. And he couldn't wait. He wanted to watch her come again. The bliss on her face, the rosy hue in her cheeks, the way her neck arched as she quivered in his mouth. That look of pure, unrestrained pleasure on her face.

He wanted to see that again. He could probably get off from making her come. Knowing he was the cause of something so powerful overtaking her made him feel wild.

And so he was there. Still two steps away and still torturing himself. Perhaps he had masochistic tendencies? Because nothing was stopping him from ripping his boxers and finding the first condom and wearing it and pounding inside her.

Certainly not her.

"What are you waiting for?" she breathed.

He had no answer to that. He sure as hell could use a little orgasm but… he wanted to make it last. He wanted to admire her for as long as he could. To take in the planes, the angles, the curves and the details that made her so perfect. Her stretch marks and her scar and her beauty spots, her bruises and her blemishes and all the freckles that painted her body.

He shivered. There was so much bare skin. So much to kiss and lick and bite and taste. So much to explore and touch. So many sighs and moans to steal. So many urgent desires exposed and allowed to be.

"I don't know what to start with," he admitted. Her body was a goldmine and he was greedy and he wanted to kiss everything at once.

"Let me help you," she murmured, cupping his face, guiding him to her lips. A safe, familiar start.

He inhaled deep when his lips brushed hers, his hands touching whatever they could touch in his frenzy. He wanted all of her. All of her, at this very moment.

Somewhere through the kiss, her hands tickled his spine until they reached his boxers, flirting with the hem. He smiled against her mouth—his boxers had been her number one enemy the whole night. She tugged at the waistband, impatiently making them slide down his legs.

He broke the kiss. "This is an unglamorous position," he said, finishing the job himself and letting the cursed underwear join the pile of clothes on the floor. And he resumed kissing her, settling between her legs.

She wriggled away, softly pushing him back. "I wanna see," she said in a hushed voice, with a cheeky grin on her face.

He sat back on his heels and gestured toward himself. "In all my glorious nakedness."

"Fuck." She bit her lower lip, traced with a finger the defined line between his abs. And stopped right at his hipbone, on a tattoo. "Grab quick that condom before I burst."

With a smug smile, he bent over her to reach for his pants on the floor, looking for his wallet in the pockets.

Until he suddenly froze midway.

No wallet. No condom. And it only hit him, now, that he had stopped keeping condoms in his wallet because it made them ineffective. He cursed under his breath. "I don't have any on me," he said.

"There are some in my nightstand," she murmured, her lips trailing his jaw, his neck, his shoulder, dropping shivers wherever they landed. He pulled the small drawer and fumbled inside until he found what he wanted.

When he finally closed the drawer in a hurry, she snatched the condom from his hands, insisting on doing it herself. She ripped the plastic open and, as much as he tried to anticipate what he would feel, he couldn't help shivering when she helped him, when her fingers were _on him_ and her gaze too, so full of want and hunger. She didn't try to hide anything. She didn't have to. That was a moment when they could say anything and admit to anything and show everything. No embarrassment or taboo stood between them.

She looked at him when she was done, eyes still burning with urgency. Tantalizing. Challenging. _Knowing_. He recognized her so well in the way her eyes curved the invitation, the half-lidded provocation, the smoldering, smoky gaze that made him go wild.

He needed her.

He bent closer to her. "Open your legs," he breathed in her ear.

She sharply inhaled, doing as he asked. He held himself firmly to her thighs on each side of his hips, desperate for her like he had never been before.

He drew closer. She wrapped her arms around his neck while he pushed slowly in her, his eyes stuck in hers.

He breathed in. Inhaled deep. Grabbed her hips as he caught up with the overwhelming warmth.

And he started moving. Slow, at first. Exploring, searching for the right pace. Asking her what she wanted. Then more confidently. Ardent. Decisive. Listening to her soft gasps when he pressed against her, to the things that made her close her eyes and ask for more.

Suddenly, she locked her legs around his waist, pushing him deeper inside her. He gasped, grunted as he sank within her. But he didn't stop moving. He thrust, pushed, his whole body rumbling with pleasure. He moved and shifted and tried to stir all possible reactions from her, all the moans against his lips as he rubbed languidly against her and all the small cries as he rolled and grabbed her backside, her thighs, her hips. He listened to her panting requests— " _touch me here_ "— granted all her half-spoken wishes—" _kiss my breasts_ "— rejoiced in the way she tugged at his roots and played with his hair—" _it feels so good_ "— and sometimes allowed himself to look at her face, her beautiful face, while she bathed in pleasure.

And somehow, as they moved together, as they spoke in this quiet language of moans and whispers and sighs, as she said his name at his request while he worked on her climax and kissed her neck and her breasts and that spot behind her ear, his own pleasure grew. Built fiercely in his stomach, resolute and certain. Hot, burning, throbbing. Demanding. Desperate for release.

But he held it back. As much as he could. Held it and tamed it, feeding it her growing reactions, her louder moans and the way she said his name. Her short-breathed laughs and smiles and the rested look on her face when he slowed down to whisper in her ear. There was something magical about pleasuring someone he loved that much, about knowing he was the reason she shook with bliss, and he never wanted it to end.

So he kept it nestled in his stomach, he _tried_ , but it grew, and grew, and grew… The more she moaned, the more she begged for him to go deeper, the closer she brought him. His body ached for hers, for the feel of her breasts against his chest, the heat of her skin, the perfection of their embrace so tight her skin was all he felt.

He panted. Thrust faster. Rougher. Impatient. Pinned one of her arms to the bed. And pounded. Faster. Deeper. Touching her here and there. Wherever she wanted, he wanted it too. He bit her lip, collapsed on her chest then up her throat. His tongue against the pulsating vein on her neck. All focused on her. He trailed her neck to her ear, asked her to say his name. Again. Again. Sighed when she moaned it, when she whimpered his name. It was pure bliss to him, the syllables stolen from her mouth in a gasp.

His hold was slipping. He grunted, held his breath. Contemplated her as she pleaded him to keep going, breathing hard against his cheek. He closed his eyes, abstracted everything but her. He couldn't have enough of her. He wanted to set her off. To please her in all the possible ways. To drive her wild. To make her drunk with pleasure. Drunk with _him_.

And so he kept moving, always, more and more. More.

More.

More.

 _More_.

She exploded in a soft gasp. It wasn't loud or exuberant or spectacular.

It was _delightful_.

He saw it on her face. Intense and delicious. In the way she panted. In the trembling fingers in his hair. The shaking thighs and the way she slowly threw her head back and arched her back and held to him while bliss blurred her reality. And he _felt_ it. The way she pulsed around him made him delirious. She whimpered his name one last time, in hitched sighs as he worked to make it last as long as he could make it last, as long as _he_ could last, _as long as_ —

The surge of feelings was too much. His dam broke and all the pleasure poured out of him in the release he had sought, in a muffled cry on her damp chest. It overthrew him, a tidal wave crashing on him and swallowing him whole, leaving him shaking on her body, throbbing with mind-shattering bliss. He couldn't think in that moment. He couldn't see. He could only feel. All the heat spreading in his body, pulsing through him. The core of a star beating slowly, radiating through his veins.

And he was so aware, and his mind was so clear and so foggy at the same time, and there was nothing in the world but him and his pleasure and his release. Just the wild fire, the tidal wave, the euphoria beating through his entire self.

He held to her hips like he held to a buoy, so vulnerable in that moment, and yet so safe. He forgot everything, if not for a moment, focused on her only. The way she held him, the safety of her presence. Her softness, her _tenderness_.

He caught his breath while she caressed his hair. Caught up with the emotions that sizzled within himself. Caught up with his reality, too, a reality that was hers too.

And in that moment, with his breath slowing down, her fingers stroking his hair, her own breath finding a calmer pace, he felt the rightness of what they had done. Though he knew what it meant, for him and his demons, it didn't matter.

She was all that mattered, and he was so completely, utterly, desperately in love with her.

* * *

When he came back from the bathroom, after getting rid of the condom, she was still on her back. He lay down next to her, mimicking her posture, stealing glances at her.

They remained that way for a long time. Just lying side by side, thinking about what happened, surely, but not saying a word. They were too tired—the restful kind of tiredness. He looked at her. She had opened her eyes and was staring at the ceiling. Her cheeks were still red, her neck and chest still flush and damp. Her breathing had slowed down.

He thought that after so much intimacy, she needed some time to catch up with everything. Some space. So, no matter how much he wanted to reach for her and hold her, he waited for her to move. To show him that now he could touch her.

Suddenly, she laughed. A tired laugh, but a satisfied laugh. The laugh of someone who had been hungry for so long and had waited patiently for the feast and had freaking feasted until she was satisfied and full and good and right. He scooted closer, silently asking for cuddles while she turned toward him. She cradled him in her arms, laying a kiss on his lips, and he couldn't help but pull her into a hug and kiss her back and laugh with her.

She was everything to him.

"Oh my God," she whispered, stroking his cheek, her eyes alight with joy.

"Does that mean you liked it?"

"Fuck yes. That was so _good_. I don't know what you did down there but it worked."

He propped himself up on his elbow, his thumb drawing circles on her hip. "I'd give half the credit to our insane chemistry."

"And the other half is…?"

He smirked. "Exploration. I just looked for what made you—" he traced a finger from her hip to her ribs, and she shivered under his touch "—react the most. And listened to your reactions."

"Good job Indiana Jones. I think you probably dug a treasure up."

He shifted closer and gave a long kiss in her neck. Thought of her breasts against his chest and her moans breathed in his ears. "Hmm. I sure did," he said, nuzzling in her neck. Her scent—sweet and fizzy grapefruit, sweat after the effort, _his_ scent on her—was driving him crazy.

She raked her fingers through his hair. "You were in my head the whole time."

"I wasn't just in your head."

She snorted. "How to kill the romance 101."

"Says the girl who threatened to kill me with my underwear."

"Well you were getting on my nerves! I get very crude when I'm horny."

"Hana, you're always horny."

She feigned to look offended. "First of all, how _dare_ you? You haven't seen me when I'm horny," she argued.

"What did I just witness exactly…?"

"Me getting rightfully impatient over your, your, _your excruciatingly annoying boxers_."

He rose his fist in the air. "And thus she declared a war on his boxers. Lots of sex resulted."

"Lots of frustration too, because a certain person is a lot into teasing." She nuzzled closer, stroking his cheek with her thumb. She didn't say anything. Just looked him in the eyes. And smiled. And he smiled back, entranced by her joy and her contagious grins, as ever. He ran a hand through her hair but kept meeting tangles, so he gave up and stroked her hair instead.

She laughed. "Even my hair insists on killing the romance."

"Good thing I'm persistent."

She gave a small peck on his lips and sat up. "You want some snacks?" He blinked, and his lips slowly stretched in a big smile. "I take that as a yes. Wait, I'll fetch some."

She stood up and walked toward the door. Just as he had predicted, she hovered by the door, then promptly came back, took the clothes off the floor, slipped into the bathroom, came back empty-handed, and then went out.

"Even after sex the girl's still a fussy neat freak!" he said loudly so she could hear him from the kitchen.

"Fuck you!" she shouted back.

"Just did!"

He heard her laugh—then heard the cupboard closed.

During that time, his mind wandered again, on the constellation of freckles and beauty spots scattered over her body. He had kissed every small area of skin on it, every stretch mark and every beauty spot. One of them had held his attention for a moment, he mused. A beauty spot hidden in her inner thigh. Quite a convenient location.

She came back with a bowl full of candies. When she closed the door, she grinned at him and widened her eyes in that dorky way of hers.

"You know, your butt jiggles when you walk," he said when she came back.

"I know."

"It's adorable."

She reached for her butt and pinched it. "Is it?"

"Yep. Very much so." He grabbed her butt as she straddled him with the bowl in her arms, and bent his knees so she could rest her back on his thighs. "I'm not responsible for any unwanted hard on," he joked.

She shrugged. "There is no unwanted hard on from you."

"Aw. What a heartfelt confession."

"I know. I'm such a poet."

"You're learning from Killua the Poet and Philosopher," he mused. (It was only supposed to be Killua the Philosopher, but he could afford another prestigious title next to his name, right?)

She blushed then. A little bit of shyness, a lot more of excitement. "Actually…"

"What?" he nudged her.

A huge grin added to the whole Happy Hana Package. "You were so into it. You said a lot of cute things. I didn't expect you to be a talker during sex. You sounded like you were in another world."

He tipped the corner of his lips. "I was."

"You said adorable things to me."

"Things like?"

"Cheesy things."

"... What did I say?"

"You really don't remember?"

"I don't control the flow of my mouth during sex."

She chuckled. "You said you wanted me. That I was beautiful. That I was wonderful. That I was perfect."

"You _are_ perfect."

"I'm so not."

He arched an eyebrow. "What isn't perfect about you?"

She pondered his question, then moved her hands to her butt. "I have stretch marks."

He shrugged. "Perfect."

"Bruises?"

"Heh. Perfect."

"Hmm. Dark circles."

"Perfect."

Her fingers went to her scar, her lips pulling into a small, almost solemn smile.

To which he shook his head, and smiled fondly. "Perfect."

She chuckled. She cupped her breasts then. "I have hair around my nipples," she tried.

He rolled his eyes. "Congrats. You're a human being." He pointed to his own nipples. "I do too."

"I know. I did lick your nipples. But it's lighter than mine. I can't see it." She tilted her head. " _You_ are perfect."

"I know. But perfect doesn't mean flawless, and that's what you think it means."

"Okay, well, you _are_ flawless though," she insisted.

He shook his head. "Definitely not."

"Please. Give me one thing that's not perfect about you."

"I've lost two teeth in fights," he retold, then opened his mouth and showed two molars on the left side of his teeth. "Had a dentist put prostheses on them."

"That can't be seen so it doesn't count."

He sighed. "Well. I have a tiny bump on my nose. My eyebrows are too dark. My cheekbones too sharp. When I lose weight, they make my face look too gaunt. I could almost be cast for a vengeful winter ghost then." He showed her his hand. "My fingers are too slender and bony. My arms are veiny."

"Your arms are hot."

He smiled. "Some people told me it was hot. Some others that it was creepy."

"Screw them. You're perfect."

His smile grew tender. "I have a birthmark on my hipbone."

"I know. I kissed it."

He chortled. "My butt gets small pink pimples when I sit too long on wooden chairs."

She laughed. "I'd like to see that." She ran the nail of her thumb on the skin of her inner arm. A puckered pink trail swelled on her way. "My skin is super sensitive and swells when I press hard on it. June used to draw dicks on my forehead for that—but that's probably because I drew one on his with a permanent marker."

"That's rad as fuck." He nodded. "Definitely perfect."

She sighed. Then, she wriggled her toes. "My pinky toenail barely looks human."

He wriggled his foot behind her. "Neither does mine."

She threw her arms in the air and flopped on him. "I give up!"

He hugged her, amused. "Want me to tell you something crazy?"

She sat straighter and stared at him, hands on his shoulders. "What is it?"

"I have one scar."

"Only one?"

"Yeah. My skin recovers well. Except for this one scar of all scars. It's faint but when you _reeeeally_ squint you can see it."

She gestured him to keep going. "Where is it?"

He pointed down. "My ass."

She blinked—it _was_ such a glamorous place to have scars. "Holy shit. A scar on your ass? How did you get it?"

He snorted. "Got bitten by a furious cow."

She burst out laughing. "Oh my _god_! Of all the ways to have battle scars, a _cow_. You were meant to be a farmer."

"Or not. I couldn't sit for three days straight. And it was so awkward when my wounds had to be tended to. Imagine having to show your ass to some old grandma who can't stop laughing while she tends the wound. Gon was laughing his ass off the whole time, instead of helping me."

They kept joking and laughing after that. The snacks in the bowl dangerously diminished as morning perked at their window. Eventually, they finished the candies and took a quick shower together.

A lot happened during that shower. Splashing and bubble beards and punk hair with shampoo happened. She may or may not have drawn red flowers with shower gel around his nipples and he may or may not have molded a perfect bubble crown on her head—which deflated when she tilted her head. He figured that was a perfect way spend the night—or early morning.

But most of all, they talked. In the shower. In the bed. When they cuddled naked in the sheets, finally ready to sleep after their hair dried—Hana needed a little help from her blow-dryer, but that's a detail. They talked about their feelings and how good they felt with each other and told each other random stories. Like the time this old woman somehow understood that Killua manipulated electricity and, though she had no idea what nen was and what he did with it, she never questioned it and called him every time she needed her devices fixed. Or the time Hana dreamt of being a boy and somehow all she could think was 'wow now I can walk the streets without being catcalled!'

And they talked about sex. About what they liked and didn't like. About how they had felt when they had sex, how they had made each other feel. Just exchanging, caressing, kissing. Sharing.

They fell asleep that way. With lazy smiles as their eyelids dropped and small caresses on their bare skins. Within each other's quiet embrace. Safe together under the sheets.

Soon enough, their quiet laughs faded to silent breaths.

They did need a good rest, after all.

More than anything else.

* * *

 **A/N:** Soooooooooooooo. YES. They did it yay. I'm happy about that tbh, I like to explore their intimacy together too. I wanted their first time together to have a lot of things—hot stuff of course, but also the goofiness that makes Hanallua what it is, you know? I hope I managed to convey their closeness.

I edited this scene at least ten times since the first time I wrote it. I think it was even before I wrote most chapters… Like two years ago? It was a small scene at the time. Then I edited it so much there's barely anything in common with the first version :') It's changed a lot, along with my writing and with Hanallua. It used to be a lot more romantic and a bit less explicit. Then I was just like, you know what? Hanallua are both huge jokes so I'm just gonna make them laugh and joke and be crude, fuck it.

(Obviously there will be more hot scenes later—including some that are actually hotter than this one…)

This is my first time publishing an intimate scene so I'm a bit nervous. **Pleaseeeeee tell me what you thought,** I have no idea how this is gonna be liked or not and though I personally like it, I really need to know if you do too! So let me know what you thought, it's really important to me :')

Next chapter is called **Mysteries** and it's pretty chill and funny (or at least, I had a lot of fun writing it lol) and you'll have some revelations about nen! (Yeah, I tweaked it a bit ;) )

Until then, I hope you guys have a great time! You can contact me here or on tumblr ( **kigamin** for my personal blog, **poisonedamaryllis** for the story's blog) if you want to talk or if you have any question about the story. Last time I answered a really cool question about Hana's nen abilities, so you can find details about that there too.

Bye guys!


	31. Mysteries

**A/N:** Hi guys! How have you been! On my side things are a bit hectic (end of semester you know, the time when you have to finish your projects….. except you haven't started them :'))) so you're kinda in deep shit but you've been through so much shit already you barely care :'))))))) so YOU WORK EVEN LESS… WHICH RESULTS IN …. MORE SHIT…. YOU SEE ME? ). Also I'm participating to the Hunter x Hunter Big Bang on Tumblr, as an artist! It's a really cool event. If you're interested, stayed turned because on June 1st a bunch of new fics and fanart will pop!

(and yes, this is why I'm being eveeeeeeeeeeeeen slower at replying to your PMs, I promise I'll get around them asap)

Anyway, your response toward last chapter was amazing. I'm really happy that overall everyone seemed to like how I write mature scenes, it's a big relief! Expect more of those. Some lighter, some more daring. B) For those who still don't want to read mature-ish content, **be aware of the (*)** and avoid them—they mark scenes with explicit-ish content.

On the news side, I still haven't finished Chapter 32 but it's almost done! It needs thorough editing though. There's also an adorable Hanallua drawing I commissioned, drawn by **industrialplant**! Check it out, it's lovely! **Industrialplant's** art is dope.

On the random side, I watched the second season of Sense8 and it's soooo good. Also, I imagine having Hana in your cluster would be pretty… intense. **Which PA character would you like in your cluster?** And for those who don't watch Sense8 **, which PA character would you like to share your mind with, to the point where you can use their ability, feel what they feel, etc.)?** I think personally it'd be Hana. Or Ophelia. :')

Anyway, as always, thank you all so much for your response! PA is slowly rising and it's all thanks to you. I hope to see it grow more and more with the years, and I hope you'll help me achieve that and keep supporting me as I write. :)

Now without waiting, dig in this chapter! I had a lot of fun writing it ;)

* * *

 **Replies to guest reviews** :

 **Ap:** Hello! Thank you for reviewing! I don't know if you'll be reading this but I have no other way to contact you and answer your question, so I'll answer it here (and hope you'll see this)! I'm glad you decided to give this story a chance even if it's not completed :) I think this is gonna be a long story though. I don't know how many chapters yet but we're getting closer to big twists that will eventually lead to a bigger conclusion. I'd say, I'll probably need another year or two to complete this project. That being said, if you want to support me during my immense quest, be my guest! :D

 **Kiki:** Hello! Thank you so much for your review! I admit you made me laugh, because actually you're SPOT ON (and the first one to wonder how Whisper and Malzi are connected ;)) and it was so cute that you were yelling XD Thank you for your kind words, I'm so happy you like my fic!

* * *

Chapter 30: **Mysteries**

* * *

 **(*)**

There were a lot of good things in life.

Wearing a sundress at the beach. Sharing ice-cream near a swimming pool, feet dangling in the water. Snuggling in bed on a cold wintery day. Drinking warm tea on a rainy evening. Walking on crunchy leaves when everything took an orange hue. Running barefoot in a field of lush grass and daisies. Riding a bicycle down a hill with the wind in her hair. Buying a crêpe at a fair and eating it while watching the fireworks. Drooling in front of candies. Petting cats and dogs. Carrying tiny animals in her hands. Eating good food and drinking good drinks and partying and laughing and smiling and meeting people and making friends and having fun.

Waking up after a restful night on a peaceful afternoon.

Waking up after a restful night on a peaceful afternoon with Killua's lips in her neck and Killua's hands sneaking up her thighs and Killua's sighs in her ear and pleasure stirring slowly in her body.

Running her hand through his hair and moaning softly while he moved in her. Feeling his warm breath on her while he lazily thrust his body back and forth. Breathing faster when he found her and pressed and lingered.

Arching her neck and sighing and murmuring his name while she hovered at the top of herself until she cried out one last time and he moaned and shivered and shook and they hung together someplace where the world was blurred out and nothing mattered besides the blissful pleasure throbbing in their bodies.

Relaxing when it was over. Exhaling of relief and slumping on the bed together with heavy limbs and groggy smiles and sloppy kisses.

And cuddling. Lots, lots of cuddling.

She sighed, a distant grin on her face as she scooted closer to him, her body resting against his. She nuzzled her cheek in the crook of his neck, her grin widening when he pulled her closer and pressed his lips against her forehead. They said nothing, just basked in each other's presence while minutes unfolded, lulled by the hazy afternoon and the sweet heaviness of their limbs after the climax.

She traced the line of his clavicle with her thumb, mapping every detail of his body as more to kiss and more to love. The beauty spot by his shoulder. The tattoo below his clavicle. The faint scar from his burns, still rugged. The lines between his muscles. The cut of his bones. And the pale valley dotted with filtered sunlight. All of it, treasures to her.

She exhaled, closing her eyes. Listened to the muffled echoes in his body. The distant underwater sound of his heart. The regular rhythm of his breathing. The whisper of the sheets entangled in their limbs. The outside world blurred and she was aloft in her bubble, her senses focused on him entirely. On the feel of him, the pulse in his neck, the rise and fall of his chest, the heartbeats that vibrated through his chest to her own. On his caresses, fingertips on her back, feathers brushing her skin. On his warm embrace, his strong body against hers under the weightless sheets, his arm so tightly fastened around her waist like an anchor to safety. The safety of his embrace.

This was her life for a short instant, a fraction of the clock, a drop in the sea. Yet, as short-lived as it would be, it was here and it was hers.

It was all that mattered.

"Should we move?" she broke the silence, opening her eyes to his hand taking hers on her his chest.

His answer was categoric: "Nah."

She smiled, nuzzling closer. It was past noon but she wouldn't leave the comfort of his arms for anything in the world. "I was hoping you'd say that." She pressed her lips to his chest, right under his clavicle. "You feel magical," she mused, intertwining her fingers with his. And just as per habit, he brought their interlaced hands to his lips and kissed the back of her fingers.

"That's because I'm actually a fairy."

She propped herself on her elbow, one hand resting flat on his chest, eyes peering in his. "You know, I'm persuaded people get more beautiful when you like them. When I first met you, I thought you looked handsome, but now… God, you're so gorgeous, it's unreal. You might be the most beautiful person I've ever met."

His whole face lit with a bright smile. "Might?"

She chortled. "Yes, 'might'. Because obviously the most beautiful is _me_."

He narrowed his eyes. "I'm torn between agreeing and arguing."

"Aha," she exclaimed. "That moment when your girl is also your smug-asshole-rival."

"You just admitted you were a smug asshole."

"And called you one at the same time."

He blinked, then made a non-committal face. "We are a good match."

"The perfect match," she furthered. "Both hot. Both smart. Both aware of it. Both kinda obsessed with catching crazy criminals."

He smiled. She gently stroked his cheek, rewinding their conversation. She was in a too good mood to worry, but she wondered if he had noticed she hadn't dared to call herself his girlfriend.

Then, his words from the night before whirled back in.

" _I don't know if I should. I'm afraid you'll get too close,"_

"Killua," she started unsurely, instinctively looking away for the briefest instant.

But he saw it. He always did. And as always, he tensed up, braced himself for something she didn't know. "Yeah?"

"Yesterday, when we… Before we had sex, you said you weren't sure we should do it—that you were afraid I'd get too close. I just thought about it, but… what does it mean? I hope I didn't push you to, I don't know…" She closed her mouth, shyly searching in his eyes.

And she saw it again. Those infinitely small hints of anxiety. "You didn't push me to do anything," he said quietly. "There's no way I could regret what we did. And I wouldn't have it any other way. You have no idea how many times I'd wanted this, without having the courage to ask what you did."

"But… you said you were afraid I'd get too close," she insisted. "Why?"

A shadow passed in his eyes. "Maybe I have thorns."

"So do I, and yet that never stopped you." She brushed his bangs from his forehead. "I can help you. I don't want you to think that you'd hurt me in any way, or that this isn't the happiest I've ever been. Thorns or not—I'm here for you, too. And I have a green thumb, you know," she joked softly.

He cracked a sad smile. "I know. Don't worry about me." He passed a hand through the lock of hair lining her face, then cupped her face. His voice was gentle, quiet. Almost lonely. "I feel so good with you. I don't want you to ever doubt that."

"I don't doubt it," she assured. _But why not let me help?_ "I just want to be here for you like you were here for me. I deeply care about you, Killua."

"And so do I. But I'm okay. I promise."

She didn't press. No matter how frustrating and slow she had been, he had always waited. The least she could do was respect his privacy.

Nonetheless, a dark thought lingered. Because all these insecurities of his, these flashes of fear that reverberated through his gaze at times, all of it had begun with _them_. With the reality of this attraction between them. With a kiss and a confession. _Her_ kiss.

What if it was all her fault?

"Hana?"

She looked up, caught his worried gaze. With a hand, she cupped his cheek, still supporting herself on her other arm. "Yeah?"

"How many stars in the universe?"

She blinked at the change of topic. "One?"

He smiled with anticipation. "Nope. Two." As she frowned, he continued. "You, and me."

A bright grin tore through her face, a blazing sun slaying the dark thoughts. And she just crashed her lips on his, laughing and snuggling in bed with him until she forgot everything but the feel of his lips on hers.

She had all time to worry about those thorns of his.

Just not now.

* * *

 **1:35 P.M.**

There were a lot of things Killua couldn't explain about Hana. A lot of things that sometimes were relevant to mysteries. Or as he called it, Hana Mysteries:

 **Hana Mystery** | _ˈhænə_ _ˈmɪstəri_ |

noun (pl. **Hana Mysteries** )

 **1.** a phrasal construction defining any unexplained and/or unexplainable trait, habit, or feature, linked to the individual Hanaiko Torana: _"Hana lives on 2 hours of sleep, love, and coffee, where does she find all this energy?" "It's a Hana Mystery. You just can't explain it, that's how the girl is."_

 **2.** Any odd, peculiar, or remarkable trait transpiring in Hanaiko Torana that defies the laws of common good sense.

Killua's current list of Hana Mysteries was still growing, but some outstanding relics regularly played back. Some examples:

' _How Does Her Hair Always Look Good?'_ A mystery still unsolved but that might have something to do with the 'intensively nourishing pure precious oil' masks she used every three days. Or perhaps her hair was insured. For a few thousand Jennies.

' _How Does She Balance a Social Life with Work?_ ' He figured it had something to do with the restlessness that possessed her whenever she craved people's presence. Perhaps having a social life was more of an obsessing need than a convenient thing to her.

' _How Does She Catch Her Breath When Speaking So Much?'_ A fair question when she remade the world every night before they slept. Not that it bothered him; he could listen to her ramblings for hours on.

' _Just How Many Disney Songs Can She Fit in Her head?_ ' Because sometimes it felt like Hana's life was one giant Disney karaoke or a secret musical in which she was the protagonist and he was one very confused spectator ("Wait, that's a Disney song?"). You'd think someone with no singing ability whatsoever wouldn't insist on singing that much, but Hana didn't care, and he had learned to love that about her. She could whip out a Disney song out of nowhere and always have it conveniently fit the situation. Ice cream too cold? "The cold never bothered me anyway." Admitting she had just lost a game? "No chance, no way, I won't say it, no, no!" Car low on gas? "I can go the distance." Just starting a long day of work? "Let's get down to business to defeat Faem!" Seeing her tired reflection in the mirror right after waking up? "Who is that girl I see staring straight back at me?" and other numerous samples.

And the best one: _'How On Hell Is Her Place Always So Damned Tidy?'_ And he really couldn't find any explanation for that. Either she chanted some cursed incantation every single day for the furniture to clean itself, or she had signed a contract with some nitpicky demon. Or perhaps she was the nitpicky demon. He really wouldn't be surprised.

Needless to say, the overwhelming tidiness applied to her workroom as well. Definitely one giant Hana Mystery to him. Whenever he worked, he had tendencies to get all over the place—his head was always excessively tidy, he needed to go wild in his workplace. He had tried to do like her before—sort all his cases in alphabetical order, neatly write every single task to accomplish on a pretty whiteboard, collect all the evidence on a clean and ordered board… It had never worked. There was always a point when he would sigh and say 'Fuck it' and just shove some case in a random folder. Everything he needed was in his head anyway. Who cared if his workplace wasn't the next Ikea showroom?

Hana did, apparently.

"I need to write a program to analyze the handwriting samples I've downloaded. There are thousands of them, I can't do it by hand. Hopefully, Charybdis' and Scylla's handwritings will be in the set and easily… Killua?"

His head jerked up, eyes wide as he stared at her with shock. Her eyes fell on the object in his hands—an adorable bunny notepad he had found in one of her drawers, filled with gruesome morgue visits reports. He'd figured he might as well use a cute notepad if he was going to work. "I'm listening. Program, handwritings, thousands, too much by hand. Sure."

She narrowed her eyes. "You're not planning to write in that, are you?"

"… Yes?"

"It's strictly reserved for morgue visits! If you're going to use something to draft ideas, use one of my draft notebooks."

"They're not cute," he mumbled. "Why do you even have a notepad for morgue visits? How often do you go there?"

"Every time I work on a murder, duh. I want to see the body before I proceed."

He was about to ask why the forensics' work wasn't enough when he remembered her ability. "Right. Sae can analyze dead things."

"Yeah." She took a notepad from her drawer, lined and plain white and _definitely not cute_ , and she threw it to him. "Write on this. Don't touch the Morgue Notepad."

(One more Hana Mystery: ' _What Kind of Girl Owns a Morgue Notepad?_ ' More to follow.)

He pouted as he stared at the notepad. It was empty for the most part, except for a few scribbly notes on the very first pages. "Has any of your visits at the morgue been useful to you?"

She snorted. "Once, Sae couldn't analyze the body."

He rewound the specifications of her ability in his head. 'Sae can't analyze living things,' she had once mentioned while explaining how her different tools worked. He grimaced at the implication, mildly horrified. "The body was _alive_?"

"Sort of. It was like in zombie mode, because of a nen user whose aura inhabited it. Like a parasite needs a host."

"Sounds like Ikalgo's ability," he mused, more to himself than to her.

"Ikalgo… the Octopus?" she tried. He smiled at her attempt. Whenever he mentioned one of his friends or people he knew, she tried to stir her bad memory for facts about them. So far she was doing great. Except for Hisoka, whose name she always horribly butchered—Hisska, Hoshika, Ikaso, Hyskoa… he had heard it all. Even Kurapika's name had never been butchered that bad.

"Yeah. Though when you meet him, ask him if he's a squid instead. He'll prefer that."

"Squiderrific," she recalled.

He chuckled. "Yeah, that." He put the notepad on the desk, standing up to sidle up to her. "Tell me more about the program you're gonna write. I'm curious."

Her eyes lit up—though she tried to keep a neutral face. And failed. She was radiant, all because he was interested in her work—he saw it in the grin she tried to refrain, the way blood rushed to her cheeks, her leg slightly bouncing. She looked the same way he did when he saw a Chocorobot but couldn't afford to be weird about it because he was around people. And frankly? That was cute as fuck. Sometimes he wondered how a single person could hold so much cuteness in them—and here again, another Hana Mystery: 'How is She So Damn Cute?' still not solved, probably never going to be.

"I'm gonna need a few hours to make it functional, but it will save us days," she started. "I'm gonna use a neural network to recognize the handwritings and then I'll just compare them together."

"Hmm." He smirked, crossing her gaze. "I love when you talk dirty to me."

A light blush tinted her cheeks. "This is basic. If you want dirty I can talk about algebra for hours."

He grimaced. "I'm not _that_ filthy, thank you very much."

To which she just laughed. "Weren't you supposed to call Wing, anyway?" she asked as she stood up to fetch some documents.

"I did. He didn't pick up. I think he's busy—he'll call me back eventually," he informed. "I guess I called at the wrong time."

"How come?"

"Zushi has a big match coming up. He's probably training hard with Wing."

She blinked, her gaze stuck on him. The Trying to Remember gesture. "Zushi, his student, right?"

"Yeah." He looked up pensively. "He's a Floor Master. Has been for five years. Wing's training got worse after that. To keep up with the title, y'know."

"Floor Master in the Heavens' Arena?! That's impressive," she mused.

Killua shrugged. "I always knew he'd succeed. And no one's managed to dethrone him."

"You don't sound so thrilled, though," she noted.

"I'm just concerned about Zushi," he confided. "Last time I talked to him, he didn't sound satisfied. And I get him, kinda. Now that he's a Floor Master, what's left to do in the Arena? He's participated twice to the Battle Olympia, and he's close to winning, but then what? I feel like he wants to do something else, something more challenging. And I get that."

"I get that too, but staying at the top is sometimes harder than reaching it. It can be a challenge in and of itself."

"Where's the fun in that though?" he asked. "Eventually he'll reach a point when nobody can challenge him. Where does he go from here?"

She stared right at him—but her gaze wasn't focused. "I see what you mean. I don't think I'd like to stagnate without any improvement ever. I'm _way_ too restless for that. But I can understand why someone would be satisfied with that position."

"Comfort?" he tried.

"Fame."

"What's the point in fame, though?"

"Recognition, admiration, attention, support. Personal growth, too. I think it's a valid motor."

"Could be," he conceded. "Not for me, but I suppose it could be a motivator." He nodded toward her. "Where do you fall on that?"

She shrugged uncomfortably—and he nearly started, worried he had made her uneasy. "In-between, I guess? I don't seek fame actively, not through work at least, but… I kinda like the idea of being popular, or admired, or liked. Of getting the recognition for my work."

He smiled. "Nothing wrong with that. You're popular alright. Is there any person in this damn city who doesn't know the Hana phenomenon?"

She chuckled, and he relaxed at the little bells sound. "I have a lot of friends, that doesn't make me popular."

"Please, everybody knows you."

"But not everybody likes me. I have a bad reputation among hunters," she said weakly. As though the words were shameful to say. And through them, the echoes of the night that broke her. The night she died and was remade.

He swallowed. "Hana," he called, willing his voice to be reassuring. Bitter regret pooled in his chest, because of his questions. He shouldn't have brought up this topic. She was just fine before he reminded her of her issues.

"I'm okay, I swear," she quickly assured. "Don't make that face. It's no secret that a lot of hunters tend to be, um, pretty arrogant. And judgmental about the failures of other people."

"That's because they have no idea what it's like." He thought of Morel and Knov, their condescending remarks the day Killua and Gon had lost Kite to Neferpitou. Their unmasked arrogance they flaunted in two broken children's faces, until they felt the smothering bloodlust and darkness in Pitou's monster aura. Until they realized the kind of mind-shattering danger he and Gon had been up against. Until they knew what it _was_ like. "All these people who shit on you, they wouldn't speak so highly if they had faced the Whisper. It's ignorance that makes them judge you."

"I'm aware," she tiredly said. "I know they're in the wrong, but I can't help feeling ashamed. Last time at the party, I made a huge effort and I'm… proud of it, but I can't help missing the time when I was the bright and popular promising young hunter. Not a failure and a joke." She nervously laughed. "I mean, it's probably because I'm an attention-seeker anyway. A part of me always seeks validation through other people."

He frowned, fumbling with everything she had just said and a mess of emotions that seized him whole—anger at those people for judging what they didn't know, surprise that she was confiding so much, and, mostly, sadness. Because of the way she spoke of herself, of her denial and her self-doubt. Because in his eyes, she was still a bright and promising hunter, yet no matter how much he tried, she wouldn't see herself the way he did.

And it was so infuriating that such a bright person would be blind to her own light.

He reached for her hand. "I don't get why. You're cool as fuck, no matter what people think. When you let people decide your worth, it inevitably fucks with your self-esteem. Makes you put barriers and limits to yourself where there shouldn't be."

"I know… I know I shouldn't let people decide if I'm a good person or not. But there's always a little voice in my head that repeats the things they said. That I was a failure, good for nothing, weak, pathetic. That I was a shame for a hunter and I couldn't even protect my friend." His eyelids twitched at her last words. "They don't know I was cursed. They don't know I survived the Whisper's curse. All they know is that I faced him, Feri died because of me, I failed, and then ran away crying. Of course they were going to gossip."

"Would you have done it? Would you have judged someone you knew nothing about if they failed a mission? A mission that involved catching a serial killer who annihilates hunters?"

"No! Of course not," she exclaimed.

"Then why do you try to justify what they did to you? Or how they spoke of you?" He leaned closer, searching her gaze as she tried to escape it. "You don't agree with them, do you?"

She flinched, remained silent for a moment. That reaction enough was enough to betray her—and a punch for him, right in the chest. "I try not to," she fumbled. "Sometimes the little voice tries to convince me of it and I fight it but…" She didn't say more.

He sighed heavily, distraught. Even more so when she worriedly stared at him, as though she expected him to run away because of what she had told him. She always did. Every time she opened up about her issues, her words were coated with alarm. No matter how many times he assured her that he _wanted_ her to talk to him, she still doubted, still believed she was too much to handle, that one day he would stop caring and would run away from her.

 _You're no better._

His jaw twitched.

 _How many of these doubts do you think you created?_

 _You think she doesn't see the shadows in your eyes? The secrets in your voice? The cracks you try to conceal with a good-mannered laugh?_

 _You think she doesn't ask herself why_ you _won't open up?_

He searched her eyes, pressed by the demons. Searched for wounds he had created and doubts he had seeded.

 _You can't take a step forward and yet you expect her to? You can't even tell her how you feel about her and you expect her to trust you?_

"I'm sorry," she suddenly said. The words rang in his head like an alarm. Choking him in a burst of panic that he swallowed back before it flooded him. "That was pathetic."

"Don't say that," he argued. His voice was calm, but her eyes darted toward his as he spoke. She could always tell. She could always see the shadows. His chest constricted at the thought. "I'm glad you're telling me about this. But I just don't get why all these people's opinion matters. You don't need them to acknowledge you to be a badass—and let's face it, they probably won't because they're fucking bastards." He squeezed her hand, and he was relieved when she responded. "The sun doesn't need to be acknowledged to keep shining. Keep that in mind."

"But I'm not the sun, Killua."

"What are you, if not a blazing concentration of warmth and energy?"

She grinned. And like every time she did, something light and funny fluttered in his chest. "You give me too much credit. If anything, I'm a little thing that needs a lot of attention and care to not wither away. Perhaps it's shallow but that's how I am."

"I'm not saying it's shallow. You're not a shallow person for being affected by the shit people say about you, or for needing positive attention. But I don't understand why it should matter. You shine no matter what, but you can't seem to see that."

She shrugged. "I'd shine more without black clouds all around me. When you give a flower sun and good soil and water it flourishes. When you poison the soil, it dies."

"Well, I'm pretty sure I wasn't raised on sun and love, and yet according to a _certain person_ , I'm a perfectly fine flower. How did she say it? That I grew through the cracks." She smiled at his words, and he smiled back at the beautiful sight. "So if you believe I could grow through the cracks, why can't you believe you did too? You see beauty in everything except yourself, Hana. You see people's achievements without ever giving yourself any credit for yours. You say I survived abuse, that I should be proud of that, but _you_ survived trauma. Loss. Pain. You're a survivor too. How is that not something to be proud of? All that pressure your peers put on you after the failure, you didn't let it break you, or change you into a worse version of yourself. You stayed true to yourself, and you often forget that.

"And you did flourish. You grew into one hell of a beautiful and awesome person. Just because it wasn't how you had planned it doesn't mean it's not legit." He searched her eyes. "If there's one of us here who grew through the cracks, that's you, Hana. You picked yourself up after every single breakdown. You pushed yourself to be better. You saved yourself from your own self-destruction. Say what you want, but to me, that makes you one hell of a warrior. Because if there's one thing that takes grievous efforts and inhumane strength, it's saving yourself from your own thoughts."

His words died in an exhale. What ensued was the sudden silence every powerful song ended with, the space to make some room and catch up with the music. With everything he had said, all the feelings he had poured to her in a burst of honesty.

He wasn't sure what had taken hold of him. The words were rushing out before he could think better of them, feelings bared for her to see. All his admiration and his frustration, everything he wished she could see, everything he wished she could believe.

It was no spell. Words had limited power; the efforts had to come from herself. Yet, when her eyes lit up and filled with tears, his heart skipped a beat. "Wait, why are you crying?" he hurriedly said, awkwardly hovering his hands near her as though he was afraid to touch and break her.

She shook her head. "I'm not crying, just tearing up!" She scooted closer, asking for his arms, and he gladly pulled her into his embrace. He kept her close, arms tightly fastened around her, his nose in her neck as she nuzzled closer. "You always find the right words," she breathed, her voice muffled by his clothes.

He didn't know what to reply. After pouring his thoughts, after exposing all his love for her, he wasn't sure how he could word his emotions. All his hope, that perhaps his words had touched her. His concern, for her health and her well-being. Guilt over all the things he couldn't tell her and all this hypocrisy of his. And love. With the joy and the worry and the explosion of contradictions that it brought along. "I'm being honest," he finally said. Quiet, barely louder than a breath.

"I know. That's what makes it so powerful to me." She sniffed, breaking the hug to take a handkerchief. Tears brimmed in her eyes, the ephemeral kind that came in a ravage of emotions and disappeared as promptly, leaving a vague, distant high in its place. With his thumb, he gently dried her tears, and she instinctively blinked. Then, he cupped her face. Her cheek against his palm, soft and warm with the blush that kicked in whenever she felt something intensively.

And he was the reason for that.

He plunged his gaze in hers. Drowned in the raw colors that always pulled him in. Spring green, lush grass, pure dazzling life.

He didn't think anymore, seized by his emotions for a rare moment.

He could only feel. Feel the longing in her gaze, the heat of her skin, the silk contact of her cheek on his hand. Feel her maddening pulse against his pinkie on her neck and her breath against his face.

And he leaned in. Slowly. Pulled by the tenderness in her gaze, the gentle spark that resided there. His senses focused on her. Her warmth—a soft sun. Her scent—grapefruit and bedsheets. Her voice—quiet whispers. Her beauty—bright colors and mild lines and all to him.

His gaze dropped to her lips as he neared them, eyes closing on the sight of her mouth opening—what did she taste like?

And he kissed her. Exhaled. Overthrown by affection, by the feel of her and the softness of her lips. The perfection of her touch. The slow meeting and parting of their lips as they moved quietly, hushed pecks and raging hearts and the shush of their touch as they stroked each other's skin. The back of her fingers gliding against his arm. His palm caressing her skin. A word passed through his mind then— _raspberry_ —but he wasn't sure what question it answered. All he knew was that he liked it.

When they stopped kissing, they didn't open their eyes. They stayed close instead, nose against nose, basking in each other's presence. Sharing a moment of peace and intimacy, both so vulnerable yet so safe.

And silent. Alone in their world, their bubble. One so comforting not even the demons dared to speak.

She had that effect on him. The detangling of the mess in his head, as though she brushed away the darkness with a sweep of her magic. Her touch, her laugh, her lips against his. And all that love she so readily gave.

All he hoped was that one day she'd give some of that love to herself too.

In the meantime, he had plenty of love to give her.

* * *

 **4:32 P.M.**

"Don't you 'null pointer exception' at me you piece of shit!"

Killua stared wide-eyed at the incoherent red words on her screen, almost afraid to open his mouth. Contrarily to what one could think of Hana's reaction, the neural network was going well. She had implemented the tools to analyze the database of handwritings, now all she needed was to exploit it properly.

But the thing was, she seemed to have an issue with 'pointers', whatever they were. "Fucking hell, if I wanted to die with segfaults I'd have coded in C!"

Killua had no idea what a 'segfault' was—only that it was like the coding impersonation of Hisoka; something you could _definitely_ do without, that usually meant bad news and a lot of frustration, that appeared in a dramatic flourish and brought along looming curses and fear, and somehow you never knew where it came from, only that it annoyed the shit out you. Yet he could feel Hana's anger like it was his own, a fury directed at the poor thing she was using to code—'Eclipse' or something.

"It's very… red," was the one smart thing Killua found to say. Blinking at the strings of errors shoved in her face. She could have been sprouting zeros and ones repeatedly that it would have made more sense to him. One thing he did understand was that her patience was thinning faster than Killua's great-grandfather's hair.

"Debugging kills," she mumbled. "You solve one thing and ten new bugs pop out of nowhere and—oh, oh you _asshole_ ," she hissed at the screen. "Import the damned library, you dimwit!"

He quietly nodded as the 'dimwit' added the 'damned library'. "You think it will take more time?"

"I should be done by the end of the day, then I need to train the network with the samples." She glanced at him. "If you have something to do in the meantime, do it."

He eyed his phone with boredom. "I do have some stuff to do. Stuff that involves either Wing or Elias calling me. And neither are, so..."

"Wing for the memory trading thing, okay, but why Elias?"

"The warehouse," he explained. "When Mulgrad abducted Priman and his butler, he kept them in a warehouse on the outskirts of Megamshill, toward the Pit. But I couldn't find it on any map, so I asked Elias to scout for its whereabouts while I fished for older maps of the Pit." He leaned back in his seat. "That's why I had to meet this guy last Thursday. He needed me to get some info for him, and in exchange, he gave me all the data he had about old Megamshill maps. I found the address on one of those maps so I'll be going with Elias to examine the place."

"Why didn't you ask Ophelia?"

"She's been busy with Nightowl's requests." He sighed. "I already owe her for the last time she helped me out anyway. I don't want to owe her too much."

"Why?"

He briefly looked away. "She tends to ask for… expensive paybacks," he mumbled. "Last time that involved making me steal documents from the Minister of Foreign Affairs. That woman sure knows how to make the most of a favor."

"As if I needed more reasons to find her attractive."

He swiveled toward her, flashing a knowing grin. "Is that your gay side talking? Or just you being lucid?"

A timid smile appeared on her lips—though her eyes didn't leave the demonic program. "Both? In retrospect, I can kinda see I had a huge crush on her when I was, like, fifteen."

He chuckled. "I did too, when I first met her. Thankfully it was an elusive crush though. Besides, I was underage, and I don't think Ophelia is the kind of adult who'd profit from a teen's crush," he mumbled. And again, his thoughts drifted toward Hisoka. He shuddered.

"You mean she's a sane adult." She scoffed. "You know, when I was fourteen, there's a grown ass man who tried to trick me into sleeping with him."

Killua gaped. "The fuck?"

"Yeeep. He was grooming me by telling me how 'mature' I was for my age, sending me random gifts, all of them expensive. I thought I was seeing too much in it until he invited me for 'dinner'."

"… What happened then? Please tell me you didn't go."

She chuckled. "I did. With my mom. She kicked his ass and sent him to jail. Turned out he was consuming child porn, real and animated, and was an active contributor in child trafficking networks."

"Holy fuck. That's disgusting," he hissed. "I remember an old debate about how fiction and reality are two separate things, but sometimes people gotta realize the influence fiction has on reality is more prominent than they think."

"That's the first thing my mom looks for when she tracks sex predators and pedophiles. The consumption of pedophilic material. People who claim the dynamic of a child/adult sexual relationship is interesting. It's usually a red flag."

"I don't think I'd like to be in her position," he mumbled. "She helps a lot of kids but I don't wanna know what she's seen."

She frowned. "Fucked up shit." She crossed his gaze. "Those gross people go after kids because they seek easy victims. Vulnerable preys who will submit to their demands because they don't know better."

"Or because they're scared to say no," he added. "It's all about power and abuse."

"Exactly. So that makes the job even harder for my mom, because it's so infuriating to see the shit some people would do to a _child_. A defenseless child. Her work is important but sometimes I wonder how she's still sane after what she's seen."

He shuddered, again. "Your mom's so badass."

She smiled. "I'm so proud of her."

"You can be." His phone suddenly rang, vibrating on the desk like a truck. He jumped when he saw the caller and took the call. "Wing?" he started, and Hana's eyes darted toward him as he said the name.

"Killua, nice to hear from you. How are you?"

"Great, you?" Killua answered, all the while mouthing to Hana that he was going in the corridor to talk to Wing.

"I'm fine. You said you wanted to talk about something?"

He closed the door. "Sure. But first, how did Zushi's match go?"

"Ah, Zushi won." He briefly recounted the match—which involved Zushi breaking the opponent's arms and blowing away half of the arena, within five minutes, without ever using his right fist. "I was worried for nothing. I don't have a lot of time before Zushi's training though."

"I'll get straight to the point," Killua assured. "Wing, have you ever heard about memory trading? Someone mentioned it to me and it could be the key to one of my cases. If you know anything about that, please let me know." That wasn't entirely true. Killua didn't need to know what Memory Trading was to go to the Memory Market and find Owen Swatscher's memories of the comb. But he might as well know about it since he was going to depend on that.

Wing sounded pensive on the other side of the line. "I'm not entirely familiar with it, but I've heard of it. Or at least, I've heard about trading itself."

"Do tell."

A chair creaked on Wing's side. "Well, I'm still researching it. Nen theorists are currently delving in the topic, so the research is still very recent. What I know so far is that trading is a nen concept that originates from Tanalea—but spread through nen users with the years."

"Is it some sort of nen principle?" Killua asked, leaning against the wall. Hana's distant typing reached him through the door.

"Not exactly. I'd say, be careful with what I will tell you because it could be wrong, but so far, theorists say there might be more to nen than we first thought. They've managed to describe nen in two subcategories, Tei and Zai, depending on how you use your aura. Tei wills your aura around yourself and your body. Zai wills your aura around other individuals and your environment. And, from what I understood, people with a higher Zai are called traders, people with a higher Tei are crafters."

Killua blinked at the revelation, his eyes widening. "Wait. You mean there's even more to nen than just the types of hatsus?"

"That's what I mean, yes. Tei and Zai are independent of your nen type. Tei users will have more ease willing their power around themselves and will not need another presence or environment for it to exist. Their power only needs one vector, and that's them. And Zai users' power has no meaning without another person or environment to trade with—whatever the trade is. Their power needs at least two vectors." He paused. "But I did hear conjurers, manipulators, and specialists were more likely to have a high Zai."

Killua's eyebrows knitted together. "Where does memory trading fall on that?"

Wing scratched his cheek on the other side—the phone amplified the sound. "Well, that's where it becomes complicated. Tei and Zai are like the two ends of a spectrum, and a lot of people who are traders can also craft their aura through a single vector. Just like an enhancer could also have an emitting sub-ability."

"Like Gon's Paper from his Janken," Killua mused.

"Yes, exactly. But what nen researchers have found is that certain people with a particularly high Zai can trade elements that are considered… I'm not sure how to word it, the essence of life? Memories, pain, life energy, even wishes. They're called _Zaimana_ , literally 'traders of energies'. And thanks to their nen, they can either read people's energies or transfer their own."

His eyelids twitched at one word— _wishes_. "Explain," he quietly asked.

"Ahh, it's still a blurry field," Wing apologized. "For a long time, nen researchers refused to deal with Tanalean nen users—and a lot of Zaimanas have Tanalean roots."

"Tell me about it," Killua mumbled. "The locals told me the Hunter Association had turned its back on them, even before the Kumotori issue."

"Hmm." Wing lowered his voice. "Zaimanas were considered witches and wizards for a long time, even by nen users—which is beyond me. You would think nen users who turn their auras into monstrous creatures would be more open-minded, but I guess not. All I know is that Zaimanas often have nen abilities that allow them to deal with the energies I mentioned earlier. Someone who can transfer their own memories to other people, for example."

"The Wonderland serial killer," Killua said, widening his eyes. "He can read people's memories by tasting their blood, and turn his own memories into poison."

"He's most likely Zaimana," Wing agreed. "Picture someone who could, for example, trade their pain—remove it from their body and inflict it to someone else. That would be a pain trader. Some can be considered nen exorcists."

Killua's chest constricted at the thought. "I see what you mean. And that works with life energy and wishes too?"

Wing sighed. "It's more complicated for those. Very few people can trade life energy—I think it's a taboo, even in Tanalea, to mention it. Be careful if you're trudging in that area, the researcher who broke through the embargo the Hunter Association forced upon Tanalea denounced issues rooted in racism. He's been running since then, for breaking the rule."

Alluka's smile passed through Killua's head. Pure, bright, innocent. He pursed his lips. "I didn't know the Association had put an embargo on Tanalea."

"Only for nen researchers. The reason is blurry."

Killua scoffed. "There's just something in Tanalea they want to bury."

"It's very likely," Wing concurred. "Nevertheless, it's still dangerous. I'm following the scandal from afar—the Association is trying to smother it, but a lot of hunters were outraged by the secrets kept by the higher-ups, so they spread them. If you want to dabble in those issues, be careful of the consequences."

But all Killua could think about was Alluka. Six years ago, he had saved her from Kukuru Mountain after getting rid of the needle in his head. But around that time, he had also overheard a conversation—one that menaced her wellbeing for an uncertain but selfish purpose. And one that shaped all their decisions concerning Alluka and Nanika for the next five years.

He bit his lower lip, the scene unwinding in his mind.

" _We need a_ vozai _," an old man said as Killua hid in the corridor, concealing his presence. "Those within the country are unfindable. The only one we could locate is in Padokia."_

 _The woman gasped. "Padokia? You mean that cursed Zoaldyeck child?" Killua's blood froze in his veins. "It's way too dangerous, you fool. The Zoaldyeck's domain is a gate to hell."_

" _I'm aware," he said between gritted teeth. "But it's essential. We have a spy within the butlers—he will help us take the child. I got word that she's helpless—untrained, unlike her siblings. It's a sane plan!"_

" _As helpless as a_ vozai _can be, you imbecile," the woman hissed._

" _Do you think we'd go to such lengths if it weren't primordial? We can't accomplish_ anything _without a wish."_

At the time, Killua didn't know what ' _vozai'_ meant—only that it meant danger for his sister. He had listened quietly while listing the different ways he could kill those filthy people for speaking of his sister as though she were a thing, a mere tool to be used. But he hadn't killed them. Because he had to be stealthy. To save his sister and find her a proper shelter, one with those other _vozai_ hidden within Tanalea itself. Omma and Baa.

But after what Wing had told him, Killua had a bad feeling. A foreboding simmering in his brain—one that would make an awful lot of sense, but whose implications even Killua couldn't envision. "I'll be careful," he finally replied to Wing. "Don't worry about me. I won't do anything stupid. Thanks for telling me, though. Will you be okay?"

Wing chuckled lightly. "Yes, I will. It's an interesting issue. You know that as a nen teacher, I want to know as much about nen as I can, so this scandal has benefited me a lot so far."

"As long as the Association doesn't do anything shitty."

"They wouldn't. It would be the proof they're hiding something."

"Seems obvious to me that they are, but eh, nothing we can do about that," Killua scoffed.

They ended the call after some more casual chitchat and comfortable small talk. Knowing how they were, what Zushi would do next, what Killua's case consisted of. It was relieving to talk to Wing, an anchor to reality. It reminded Killua of the times they would train, Gon, Zushi, and himself.

They hung up soon after, but not before promising they'd share what they found about Tei and Zai. Both were busy, but both were curious.

Killua stared at the phone in his hand long after the call ended, without seeing it. The screen had automatically locked but his eyes didn't move. He kept rewinding parts of his conversation with Wing, about Tei and Zai, about Zaimanas and their ability to trade memories, life, pain, and wishes.

He winced.

Wish traders existed. It was nothing groundbreaking to him—he knew Omma and Baa were like Alluka. They had called themselves _vozai_ , 'those who grant wishes', and knowing she wasn't alone in the world with that ability had relieved both Alluka and Nanika from a huge weight. But the reality of wish traders— _vozai_ —was broader than ever.

If Killua was right and Alluka was a wish trader, if _vozai_ and wish traders were the same thing, then a lot of things would make sense.

And a lot of other things would sting. Because something was off. Something stank. His chest constricted at the memory of the things he had done six years ago to save Gon, corpses resurfacing in the murky waters.

 _Memories, pain, life, even wishes. They're called Zaimana, the 'traders of energies'._

He pursed his lips. Questions flew through his mind, each more urgent than the previous. What about pain traders? Where did nen exorcists fall on that? If _vozai_ and wish traders were the same thing, did it mean _fazai_ and pain traders were the same thing too?

What did pain traders do with the pain they traded?

" _I will help your friend, young boy."_

He breathed in slowly, working on his raging thoughts. Transported to that moment when he had begged _him_ to help Gon. Him, the man with the dark eyes full of pain.

" _I will help you._ _But my ability has a price."_

What exactly had he unraveled?

" _And you, my boy, will pay that price."_

And what had he _done_?

* * *

One thing—among many others—that Hana should have learned after years of programming behind her: glaring at her program wouldn't solve all the bugs. She had a bad habit to forget that programs were not sentient beings, no matter the tremendous advances in artificial intelligence. They couldn't feel her seething, as much as she'd like it to.

With a long and heavy sigh and perhaps a little more drama than necessary, Hana leaned back in her seat, pinching the bridge of her nose. She wasn't a bad programmer, really—just a very impatient one—but she had gone rusty with lack of practice. Programming was like cycling: you never forgot it. But that didn't mean you wouldn't have to look up dozens of libraries to check how some damned method worked.

"Do tell," Killua's voice reached her through the door. She found herself staring at the door then, curious of whatever he was learning through Wing. She had never heard about memory trading before, and researching it on the internet didn't give much—not even on the Hunter Website. Whatever the reason was.

(Then again, there was nothing about Nen on the internet either. That was kind of the whole point of a secret second exam, right?)

Her phone whisked her away from thoughts of memory trading. She grabbed it instinctively, reading the message Thomas had just sent.

It was a picture of a very excited golden retriever, captioned by Thomas as 'this is you'. She grinned, sent him a picture of a grumpy cat, and captioned it 'this is you nerd'. ('Nerd' was the added value of her comment.)

She cackled when he replied with a selfie of himself imitating the grumpy cat's face—and she sent a selfie of her own, wide eyes and huge smile and frankly ridiculous. She swore on everything she had that the day Thomas and June got married, she would give a speech with a PowerPoint of all his most embarrassing photos. Because of _course_ she would embarrass her best friend on his own wedding. Duh.

The conversation died then. So did her grin when she turned back to her program—which, _surprisingly_ , hadn't debugged itself.

 _One step at a time._

Begrudgingly, she focused back on the program, diligently fixing one error at a time.

Ten errors and a functional program later—Killua still wasn't back—she tested the program, though without expecting much. Experience had taught her one good thing: just because it compiles doesn't mean it works.

… And indeed, it didn't work the way it should.

"Fuck this shit," she whined, flopping back in her seat. All she wanted was for Killua to come back and hug her. She threw one long gaze of pure despair toward the door—but he was still talking. "Uhhhh."

So she just sighed and looked away. She would have to wait.

Her eyes fell on the portion of the wall next to her computer—in pure avoidance of her computer. Her interest perked as she remembered that was where she had hidden the comb. A beautiful rose gold artifact and a whole mystery all by itself.

Without thinking, she opened the compartment in her wall with a burst of her aura through her hand. The compartment, at first indistinguishable from the wall, opened slowly with a door moving backward, then upward. She fished inside for the delicate jewel, taking it between her fingers as though it was made of air. And she examined it.

She had found nothing about the comb. Nothing but a reference that linked it to this year's auction, whose items were all consigned in the Auction Book. Obviously, the Auction Book was nowhere to be found online—and exclusively purchased in York Shin City.

And most importantly, she had found nothing about the woman's name written on the comb. Leanaj. A merchant's daughter who had been bestowed the comb by her father for her wedding. A comb made by Elias's grandmother herself.

Hana narrowed her eyes. Sae hadn't found much about the comb, no sufficiently powerful aura or anything remotely useful. The comb was as silent as a corpse.

Killua came back right at this moment, exhaling soundly as he closed the door. He said nothing, but she felt his tension. Whatever Wing had revealed had taken its toll on him.

He put his phone and the desk and quietly snaked his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. She eased herself into him, tension leaving her body at his warm contact. Just what she wanted. "You're pensive," he breathed.

She heaved a sigh, staring at the comb, tracing the rugged inscription carved in its rose gold surface. "Who is Leanaj?" she simply asked, turning the comb, as though the angle would unlock a new perspective, one that answered all her questions.

But there was no new perspective. No answer. And no Leanaj.

Killua remained silent against her, staring at the comb. "There's nothing about her on the Hunter website?"

"Nothing. Not a single trace of her existence." She put the comb back in its safe compartment, then turned around and let him pull her in his embrace.

"We'll find her," he assured, gently stroking her hair as she rested her cheek on his shoulder, holding him close to her. "We'll find who this Leanaj is. That won't be the first thing we have to find."

"Hmm."

They remained that way for a long moment. Quiet, both lost in their own thoughts, sharing a close embrace. She lived for those moments—their kiss earlier, their jokes when they worked, their stolen hugs and brief, chaste kisses during their rare breaks—that made their back-breaking work more bearable. Knowing that she wasn't alone, that someone was out there enduring the same tasks and supporting her and relieving her—especially someone as dependable as Killua—, it made her feel lighter. Free from the usual stress that paralyzed her and forced her to live on coffee breaks.

She closed her eyes, tightening her embrace. Shivering when he brushed her temple with his lips.

He made her feel at peace.

* * *

" _It will be alright."_

That was the sentence Malzi had heard the most during his childhood.

" _We'll be just fine."_

" _We will get by."_

" _I will fix this."_

" _I will find something."_

" _I'll get a new job."_

"It will be alright."

A splendid, lulling lie. One that his mother would tell him every night as they huddled on their makeshift bed, one promise strung among many others. With time, the promises became his bedtime stories. Lullabies that smelt of another world. One where his mother didn't have to cry and his father didn't have to lie. One where they were a family again and they had everything still.

One where it _was_ alright.

Malzi shifted uncomfortably on his feet, eyeing his mother from the corner of his eyes as she inhaled deeply. The day was slow and heavy, the air filled with the earthy scent of rain. 'Petrichor', Malzi had read the day before, and he had decided it was his second favorite word, right after 'cinnamon'. Because 'cinnamon' was how his mother smelt like. Like the desserts she would make back when they still had their mansion, the flavor sweet and lush and spicy.

A gust of wind slapped him and he shut his eyes close before dust pricked his eyes. His mother didn't move. She held her chin high like she had been taught when she was a child, and she kept her gaze steady.

But there was no lesson on how to stop her hands from trembling, so Malzi took her hand. Gently. Held it in his own small hand. "It will be alright Mama," he said quietly, her favorite anthem. His quiet child voice a mere murmur in the howling wind.

And just like that, she found her bravery. Nodded slowly. Readjusted the comb in her hair, the one thing she had left from that golden past shackled to her ankles. A rose gold comb, a precious artifact of beads and starlight and fairy-dust. With leaves dipped in gold sprawled like wings on the comb. And her name, carved in the back of the jewel from the words of her father, a present for her wedding with a man who would abandon them.

Who could have known?

"It will."

She knocked the door of the Faem mansion. A butler opened the door, stern and serious. "What could I do for you?" he politely said, but the words didn't reach his eyes.

Malzi's mother managed a smile. She always did. For a moment, Malzi didn't see the dark circles under her eyes or the silver strings woven in her ashen blonde hair. All he saw was his young mother, fair and sweet, rosy-cheeked and still innocent.

For a moment, he could pretend nothing had changed.

"I am Leanaj Roa. I would like to meet Antony Faem, to apply for the vacant cook position."

But everything had changed. The dark circles were there. The silver strings were there. The young, innocent woman had died, and a warrior had replaced her. A broken warrior, knocking at the mansion of a dangerous man, golden shackles bright in the sun as she begged to serve his meals. For him, little Malzi. For her son.

But it would be alright, Malzi thought. Everything would be alright.

It had to be.

* * *

 **A/N:** Wow, it's almost as if even Malzi, our dear Big Bad Villain, has quite a past himself. Finally I can reveal bits about his mother and the comb.

I'm also so excited that I started revealing my new nen ideas! You get a taste here of what Killua did to save Gon. And as you can sense, that's not pretty… and it will play its part later on in the story. You didn't think I'd leave Killua alone now, would you? I focused a lot on Hana's secrets in the first part of the fic, it's about time I explore Killua's—his past decisions, his past pains, and also his past relationships. And trust me, the boy has a lot of pain to make up for all this time lmao.

Anyway, **what did you think about the chapter?** Hana's experience with coding is based directly on mine—trust me, it SUCKS. That's also why I hate C. It's the devil incarnate. I also had a lot of fun with Hana Mysteries lol. I hope you sang the song lyrics with me when you read them!

Remember the question about Sense8 above? I'm still super impatient to hear what you think! **Let me know in a review ;)**

Next chapter is called **Time Seeker** , and you'll see a lot of Elias. Actually, it's centered on Killua/Elias interactions for their warehouse mission! And you learn a lot more about Elias's ability ;)

Until then, have a great time guys! I love you!

* * *

 _The first time Elias had used Time Seeker, he had done so unknowingly._

 _He was fifteen at the time, a young hunter and even younger nen-user, struggling with dark thoughts and memories of that fateful night all of him had died to be remade. He had spent years stitching back the parts of him that had survived the storm, the sea-wracks of his old life lazy waves retched on the shore. And what for? To build himself back on the ruins of his childhood? To give himself a roof, a shelter, a semblance of the home he used to have when his parents were still alive? To stick together makeshift weapons and fight the monsters that plagued his mind?_

 _They had names, the monsters. 'Trauma' 'depression' 'anxiety' 'self-destruction'—all the more names to write in his prescriptions, to rationalize the intrusive thoughts he scribbled on his diaries. He fought with the medication the doctors gave him, with his ink and his paper, with his goal etched into his being._

 _And later, with Time Seeker._


	32. Time Seeker

**A/N:** I AM SO LATE. I'm so sorry guys! *coughs* Um. Hi. How are you all? :D

OKAY Let me explain. I'm… still not done with chapter 33. Like I'm halfway through the chapter, the big scenes are all 70% done, but it needs thorough editing. Which means that apart from this chapter, I only have one more chapter… Which is why I wanted to take the time to write… Except I don't have much motivation lately, my sleep schedule is completely butchered, so I worry about that… and don't work lol. So yeah I figured updating the fic could put me in the mood (especially if you leave some sweet reviews *wink wink*) ;w; Sorry again about that! I write a little every day but I admit I wouldn't mind some encouragement ;w;

(and yes that's also why I can't seem to get around to replying to PMs... I'll do it eventually, I promise! I'm so sorry for being so slow ;-; )

Anyway, enough pity party! In these three weeks, Poisoned Amaryllis got a LOT of gorgeous art (I'm so lucky oh my God)! First, **Hexel-JustAnotherReader** drew a beautiful fanart of Hanallua (and it's a cute and funny scene! My best pun (or worst lol)! So glad someone liked that pun!), and **OooodlesOfNooodles** drew A TWO-PAGE COMIC FEATURING BOTH OUR FICS (it's hilarious guys, do yourself a favor and read it to die of hilarity like me)! Check out the good content, you'll love it! Thank you so much to both of you, I'm so thankful! ;A; *hugs you very very tight*

 **PANDAMADU** and **Aira-ElenaBarilliArt** also both drew gorgeous Hanallua commissions, you HAVE to check them out! They're absolutely amazing!

Also, just so you know, I've set up a poll on my profile! I'd love it if you participate! :D

Now, for this chapter's fic rec, I'm gonna recommend my good friend **softkilluas99** 's fic **Come & See Me [2 AM Again]**! It's a sad fic bc my nerd likes writing sad stuff, and it's really good. If you wanna read some sweet killugon angst, that fic is for you! (if you don't see it on the front page, it's because it's rated M, so keep that in mind, and if you're okay with mature content then please go read and review and feel your heart break like mine did! You'll find it in my favs, happy hunting!)

As always, thank you all so much for your amazing support! I love you guys. I hope you like this chapter! Now go on and dig in ;)

* * *

 **Replies to guest reviews:**

 **Irem:** Hi friend! Thank you for reviewing! I love seeing your reviews ahh! It also makes me so happy that you'd read a book if I wrote it omg? It's literally the highest of praise! And of course, thank you always for your kind words and for liking my chapters ;w; I'm so happy ghjkggjkh *hugs tight* (and yes I can code! I'm not as good as Hana but all her struggles are also mine XD)

 **Xiuri:** Hi! Thank you for reviewing! I think I sent you a PM to thank you but just in case I forgot, here's another thank you for the bottom of my heart!

* * *

Chapter 31: **Time Seeker**

* * *

 **10:18 P.M.**

"So like… explain again why you absolutely needed me to come along?"

Killua sighed for at least the hundredth time since he and Elias had started their perilous mission to the warehouse.

… Okay, that was probably because it was at least the hundredth time Elias asked that question. But it was legitimate! He was about sure he was the last person on Earth Killua wanted to go on a mission with! And he could _feel_ it! He could feel his bad mood! It was annoying! He was sleepy! He wanted a nice bed and some pizza and maybe some hot tea too! Why was life so unfair! He wanted to die!

And for what? What 'mission'? Hell! Let it be known the grand mission Killua had evoked to get Elias to come involved, so far, _walking_. That was _all_. Really. Just taking a damned stroll in the forest that could have been romantic if not for the fact that, well, the boy was infatuated with his sweetheart and Elias was too hungry to process any other emotion besides the begging void in his stomach.

Life. Sucked.

Killua cleared his throat. "Because you know shortcuts in the Pit and could save us some time? Because we're a team? Because this concerns you as much as it concerns me?"

Elias narrowed his eyes. The distant call of the pizza was still loud in his ears—he could practically smell the mouth-watering cheese oozing on the crusty dough, the lush tomatoes and the sparse olives dotting the beautiful cheesy masterpiece. Hell no. He wasn't having any of Killua's bullshit when the love of his life was still desperately calling for him. "Just say that Hana didn't want you to go alone."

"You really think Hana believes I'm more efficient with you?" Killua said, voice fraught with disbelief and just enough mockery to make him sound annoying—and not enough to call him out on it. Mastery mockery.

"It's not a matter of efficiency, man," Elias whined. "She wanted someone to protect your ass."

Killua glared at him. "Protected by _you_? You're on this mission because you're part of the team. You'll get your dinner later. Let's go."

"We're already going!"

"Will you shut up for one second?!"

"I'm hungry! And sleepy! And tired! My legs hurt!"

Killua made the most comically frustrated face—all the while seething. "What are you, six?!"

"Well perhaps I am! But I'm still starving!" Elias chanted.

"I'll treat you to a damned buffet if you fucking shut up!"

Elias seemed to consider the offer, silent for a second. It was tempting. A buffet of endless food, all the more delicious, for his empty stomach to feast on. All those side dishes he could grabble and all that meat and all those desserts… "Nope. I like talking way too much. You're cute and when you're annoyed."

Killua sighed—one hundred and one. "I don't know what I expected."

"Where's my girl, by the way? Why didn't she come?" Elias asked, gloating when Killua glared at him —once more—as the mention of 'his girl'.

"Busy being a computer nerd. Because unlike certain people, Hana knows how to be useful," he said and looked pointedly at Elias. "And she's not _your girl_."

"She's not your girlfriend either. For all I know, there's nothing official about you two, man."

Killua slightly flinched—a movement so discreet Elias barely saw it. _Touché._ "Watch what you say or the only body we'll be finding tonight is yours."

"Act tough all you want, it doesn't change anything. There's nothing exclusive about you two. Or official. Or concrete."

Killua surreptitiously frowned—oh no, had he _actually_ hit a sensitive topic while being an asshole? "It's concrete alright, okay? It doesn't need to be said."

"You really believe that?" Elias asked, mentally hitting himself with a stick. He could feel himself being annoying but… he couldn't stop. There was something about Killua's behavior that was strange, and it made him want to dig deeper—no matter the daggers shot in his direction. (Though to be fair, that made him want to try harder. The whole landmines thing? Totally his thing. Most likely because he had a terrible sense of self-preservation.)

For a moment, Killua did look like he was about to speak. His features relaxed—almost innocent, vulnerable. But the moment passed, and his face hardened soon after. "As much as I believe you're an imbecile."

Ouch. "But you don't really believe that, do you?"

Killua laughed humorlessly. "You tell me."

Elias feigned to pout. "I'm offended."

"Good."

He waited a moment, watching Killua's face—forgetting for an instant the whole purpose of the conversation while he frowned in the pale moon portrait beside him. It didn't matter how much of a bad mood Killua was in, because as far as Elias was concerned, he always managed to be beautiful. Carved cheekbones and that electric look in his eyes, feather-soft strands of hair sparse on his forehead. Boy. A human masterpiece. "Honestly, if I didn't like Hana that much, I'd have tried to snatch you away," Elias admitted.

Surprise passed on Killua's face—slightly widened eyes, arched eyebrows. "Who says I'd have let you?"

Elias smirked. "You didn't look so against that, the night we met. I didn't do all the flirting."

But rather than shutting him down as he usually did, Killua looked pensive. "I was already crushing on Hana at the time. But if I weren't…" He didn't finish his sentence, instead adorning an amused smile that Elias would have devoured if he could.

"Don't make me regret pairing you up with her," Elias mumbled.

"If you were that interested in me, why do it at all?"

Elias shrugged. "I was over with my crush on you. And I genuinely like her."

… And of course, Killua's smile only got wider. "You had a crush on me?"

"I don't know," Elias fumbled. "Also you were both so annoying, all cooing and cheesy and 'oh no Killua, you haven't eaten yet?!' and 'I can't believe you stayed up all night again, Hana!'" He imitated in a mock, high-pitched voice. "And then acting like you weren't already married with a kid and three pets. Psh. It was so corny!"

But Killua was still smiling. "You had a crush on me."

Elias groaned. "I get it. You can stop now."

"It's okay, you know. Sometimes I have crushes on myself," Killua continued, still smug, still amused—still adorable.

"I'm over it!" Elias fought—but he didn't really believe it himself. "Seriously, how does Hana bear with you?"

"We cancel out each other's smugness," Killua explained. "Besides, she never complained. She never does, about anything anyway."

Uh-oh. Elias definitely hadn't imagined the bitterness in Killua's words. "Um. If… you wanna talk, you know, that stuff… feelings, advice, whatever… You can ask. I mean, I'm here. For you."

(Oh boy, that didn't sound very smart at all. It made more sense in his head.)

Killua didn't seem to notice Elias's lack of confidence, or sense, or both. "There's not much to say. She obviously has a lot on her mind. And it's my fault."

Shit. He was actually talking. Shit. _Shit_. What was he supposed to say? He hadn't expected Killua to _actually_ trust him with his worries. Uhhh. What did compassionate people usually say in those cases? "Um. How do you know it's your fault?" Okay, nice. That didn't sound so bad. Perhaps it even made sense.

"She… I don't know. I might be a bit of a hypocrite."

Oh boy. Oh man. Oh hell. Oh—What. That was much easier with Hana. _She_ would know what to say. Oh no. Oh shit. "What do you mean?" Elias asked, tucking his mild panic in his head so that Killua didn't hear it. It was a lost cause because Killua was extremely sensitive to those things—but it didn't stop him from talking.

"I keep telling her to open up to me, but I won't do the same to her. I think it gives her doubts."

"And why don't you open up to her?"

They walked in silence for a few seconds before Killua talked. "I guess I'm just a coward."

 _Ohhhh helllll nooooo_. "Why the fuck would you say that? You're not a coward for being scared to open up. It's scary shit."

A timid smile brushed Killua's lips. "But she did it for me."

"She did it because she wanted to. You're going at your own pace." He glanced at Killua. "Just make sure you know what she wants."

"I know what she wants. An official relationship. Me opening up. She never forces me, she's patient really. But I can feel it gives her insecurities."

Elias blinked. "And you don't want to go out with her?"

"I do," Killua assured. "I want to make it official. But not before I'm ready and sure I won't screw it up."

"Hmm." He looked up, occasionally glancing at Killua. "Why are you certain you'll screw it up?"

"I have my reasons." He nodded toward Elias. "How are you so certain I won't?"

"Perhaps because you love the girl and she loves you."

"It's not that easy," Killua argued. "You can love someone all you want, it may never work."

"So pessimistic. And you think that's the case with you and Hana?" Elias dubiously asked.

His silence was worrying. "I don't know. I want to make it work."

Elias narrowed his eyes. "Yo, Killua, you're too worried. You need to loosen up real bad."

"If it were that easy I wouldn't be here crying to you," Killua hissed.

Elias rolled his eyes. "Oh wow, what a fucking breakdown. Yo, take your time, and relax. And if you want it to work, talk to her. I'm not a specialist, 'aight, but I do know one thing: she's not a mind-reader, and neither are you. You wanna make it work? Use that pretty mouth of yours and talk. Eventually you'll just, I dunno, naturally tell her about your past, talk about your issues. And if she's worried about it, listen to her and tell her how you feel." He shrugged. "I mean, yeah. You wanna make it work, you need communication on both ends."

(… That didn't sound so bad now, did it?)

Killua quietly listened, and Elias was worried he had breached a boundary, gone overboard with all that advice. But then, Killua smiled, genuinely so. "My pretty mouth?"

He groaned. "Out of all that heartfelt speech, this is all you noticed?"

Killua chortled—a beautiful sound, crystal pure and silvery. "Thanks. I mean it." He cleared his throat. "This never happened, okay?"

"I'm gonna tell Hana you came crying to me."

"Sure, she'll definitely believe you."

Elias's stomach rumbled, a most disgraceful noise that would have exposed them to enemies, had there been any. In a zombie apocalypse, the noise would have been the end of them. Fortunately, the streets weren't crawling with masses of undead. Yet. (Elias was always ready.) "Anyway, I'm still hungry. Do I get you to treat me a big pizza for being nice?"

"We'll see. Depends on how well you do tonight. You make some effort and help me with the mission, and you get all the pizzas you want."

Elias smirked. "Prepare your wallet baby. The Elias is _out_." (With the finger guns, of course.)

He had no idea why Killua nearly doubled over laughing after that. He was almost hurt, because for once, he meant it. He did intend to do his best for the mission if that meant getting a treat to pizzas.

But the truth was, Elias didn't mind. Killua rarely laughed so freely at anything he said—he figured it had something to do with his pettiness—so the few times he did, Elias relished in the sight.

Nevertheless, even as they kept walking toward the warehouse, a thought lingered in Elias's mind. Something about the insecurities Killua had expressed, at first so reluctantly.

 _I have my reasons_.

Whatever those reasons were, all Elias hoped was that they wouldn't interfere with whatever semblance of romance those two idiots had found.

* * *

'Warehouse' was such a big word to describe the decrepit, vine-covered sad excuse for a building Killua and Elias had found. It wasn't like Killua had expected something grand—he figured the so-called 'warehouse' had to be discreet enough to be camouflaged—but this… was beyond his expectations.

Or rather, way below.

The warehouse was smaller than Killua's parents' closet. One might argue that a Zoaldyeck closet wasn't exactly the best reference one could find, but it was still legitimate to Killua. If he couldn't fit all his mother's dresses inside, it wasn't big enough.

"This building is a metaphor for my mental state," Elias deadpanned, eyes trailing the cracks that lined the concrete surface. Killua followed his gaze. Some parts of the wall were missing, holes gnawed in the gray surface in the manner of a decomposing corpse. A few spiders had spun their webs in the smaller holes, the bigger ones already claimed by birds in their nests.

"And probably a metaphor for Priman's state as well," Killua mumbled. What were the odds of the man still being alive? If Hana were here, she's have replied 'the odds would be negative, and that's not even mathematically possible.'

(… Just how _deep_ was he in to know exactly which dumb math pun his girl would spout in such a situation?)

An owl hooted in a nearby tree, startling Elias. "Holy shit. It feels like the set for a horror movie. What if there's actually a zombie in there?" Elias asked, then yelped as he shook away a spider web from his hand.

Killua reached for the chains binding the warehouse doors, rattling them. "Let's find out." With his bare hands, he broke the chains, letting them fall on each side of the doorknob, landing on the ground with a loud clang.

"… Remind me to never piss you off," Elias muttered, eyeing the chains—or what remained of them—with disbelief.

"Too late. That's already happened at least a thousand times."

He pushed the doors open.

The air was stale inside, a fetid mixture of mold, dust, rotting leaves, and rust. If Gon had been here, he would also have smelt the carcasses of dead insects that Killua just now noticed amid the dust bunnies.

"Even my place is cleaner than that," Elias said.

Killua scoffed. "Hana would have a breakdown at the sight. This thing hasn't been used in years."

"The chains were new, though."

"Exactly." He tapped his foot on the ground, following the clear path in front of him. "Which means there's another entrance."

"Priman disappeared like, seven months ago, right?"

"Eight. Almost nine," Killua replied. "I don't think there's a chance he could be alive." He focused on his aura, extending his En through the warehouse to feel for any electric device. Around them, there was nothing—the lights above didn't function and the power wasn't feeding them anymore. His gaze darted toward the far end of the warehouse.

"Something tells me you've found… something."

"How eloquent," Killua joked, all the while taking long strides toward the peculiar electric source. "But on point."

"And what did you find?" Elias asked, following him. They both stopped when they reached the far south wall, covered with shelves and molding boxes.

Killua inspected the ground, projecting his aura through it. "There's a source of electricity somewhere around here. A trapdoor. A switch. Something."

"You mean that?"

He turned toward what Elias was pointing at. It was indeed a switch, obvious and hidden in plain sight. "Um. Press it?"

"… What if I press it and a bomb goes off?"

"Think of the pizza, Elias."

Elias immediately pressed the button. For a moment, they thought nothing had happened, until Killua swiveled toward the shelves.

Some device had been enabled.

Without thinking, he followed the new source of power located thanks to his Nen. Stopped in front of a shelf crowded with boxes. Felt around the area, pushed a box, then another, then a dusty blank canvas. And revealed what he wanted.

A glowing pad, with all ten numbers, embedded into the wall.

"Bingo."

Elias slowly sidled up to him, hands in his pockets, dubiously staring at the pad. "A passcode?"

"Surely."

"… How does it help if we don't know it?"

Killua smirked as a reply. "Watch." He brought his hand near the pad, closed his eyes, and focused. The system appeared clear in his mind as he explored it with small bursts of electricity, analyzing the way it answered to his trials. The space of a breath, he was one with the wires and the chips and the boards and the switches and all the components in the system. Every single one. Electricity sizzled between his fingers, his keys to any door, hidden or visible. All he needed was a little patience, a little prodding.

And a click.

A trap door opened behind him. When he reopened his eyes, he found Elias dubiously staring at the giant hole in the floor. "So?" Killua smugly asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Do you really have to be _that_ good at everything?"

Killua shrugged. "I suppose not. But I don't do it on purpose."

Elias seemed to consider the answer, frowning as though it pained him to admit Killua was right.

(Not that Killua blamed him. He was quite the phenomenon after all.)

They both jumped through the open trapdoor.

The scenery immediately changed once they were through. No more dust or mold, just the sleek, dustless walls of the Underground and the vague signs of a lawless life. A faint scent of gunpowder tickled his nostrils, the only trace of a disorder.

Elias switched on the lights in the small room. As it came into focus, Killua walked through it, looking for any door. He found one, a barred metallic door to a cell. _Priman's cell._ In the center of the room, a table, with two chairs. _Two jailkeepers_. On his left, a simple cupboard that Elias opened, full with cleaning products. _To clean the blood_. And a discarded, empty bottle of bleach, toppled over on the floor. _Imperfect jailkeepers._

Priman was dead.

The realization had nothing shocking to Killua. He had no hope of finding the man alive. But his wife did. Arashi still had hope, though she denied it.

He bit his lower lip.

"Now what?" Elias cut through the silence.

"Now we look for hints."

Elias gave him a long look. And he kind of saw why—the whole place has been scrubbed of any hint. Nothing remained. Not in the main room, not in the cell. Not even a tiny droplet of blood had escaped the intense bleaching.

They had nothing. Nothing, except a toppled over bottle of bleach that showed nothing except that the jailkeepers were confident enough to leave hints behind. But what could they do? Submit the bottle for fingerprint exams and wait two weeks to find out? They didn't have that much time.

"… We'll find something," Killua assured, though he couldn't think of what. Apart from taking a magnifying glass and examining every inch of polished concrete in the room…

But Elias cleared his throat, rubbed his nails on his shirt, and flashed the smuggest grin Killua had ever had to witness in nineteen—almost twenty— years of masterful smugness. "Actually," Elias started, sauntering in the room. "I might have something."

Killua narrowed his eyes. "Do tell?"

"It's not free."

"… What?"

"I want to also be treated to a buffet. After the pizza. Then I do whatever you want."

Killua arched an eyebrow. "And what are you gonna do? Barf your stupid on the walls and hope it reveals some major mysterious key?"

"I'm gonna use my nen, baby."

"Doesn't your nen involve gadget-making? Bombs, bullet, that kind of stuff? You don't wanna blow up the place, do you?"

Elias's face grew serious—but only a little. It wouldn't be Elias if there wasn't some trace of amusement somewhere in his face—for instance, in his eyes, laughing with rarely shown pride. "It does. I have two abilities. The one you've seen is called Jack of all Trades. That's what I'm most known for. I conjure bullets with special effects, annoying mini-bombs, and the occasional sleeping pill."

Killua slightly narrowed his eyes in focus. "And the second?"

With a confident smirk, Elias released his aura in a quiet, velvet smoke around him. It was the first time he let his aura flow around Killua—and it said more about his personality than he ever would. Because Killua was certain auras spoke of their owner's personality. His aura was sharp and creeping. Hana's aura was warm and tangy. Gon's was quiet and explosive.

And Elias's was undulating, fleeting, mysterious. Inky sea and lazy fire.

A locket suddenly appeared in his palm. A small, bronze locket, attached to a stringy chain. Elias pressed on the locket to open it. Inside, a little clock. With the hands spinning counterclockwise in a frantic rhythm.

He looked Killua in the eye and finally answered his question.

"I call it Time Seeker."

* * *

The first time Elias had used Time Seeker, he had done so unknowingly.

He was fifteen at the time, a young hunter and even younger nen-user, struggling with dark thoughts and memories of that fateful night all of him had died to be remade. He had spent years stitching back the parts of him that had survived the storm, the sea-wracks of his old life lazy waves retched on the shore. And what for? To build himself back on the ruins of his childhood? To give himself a roof, a shelter, a semblance of the home he used to have when his parents were still alive? To stick together makeshift weapons and fight the monsters that plagued his mind?

They had names, the monsters. 'Trauma' 'depression' 'anxiety' 'self-destruction'—all the more names to write in his prescriptions, to rationalize the intrusive thoughts he scribbled on his diaries. He fought with the medication the doctors gave him, with his ink and his paper, with his goal etched into his being.

And later, with Time Seeker. When he found the first stolen jewel.

It was a simple pendant of jade shaped like a tear, made by his mother. He remembered her at her workshop, bent over the delicate stone while his father brought her green tea for a break. The simple kiss they had exchanged while Elias stuck his tongue out in disgust and focused on his coloring book. How old was he? Six? Seven? He didn't remember. All he remembered was the green tea fuming on the work table and the frown of his mother as she focused on her jewel.

It wasn't much, really. The jewel was small, unassuming. Nothing compared to the Tanalean rose stone necklaces, the intricate pieces of work the mercenaries had resold. But after all his efforts, it was still something—a beacon in the dark.

And to him, it meant the world.

Time Seeker had revealed itself to him during those times of struggle. One day as he took the little jewel, touching the jade tear with the tip of his thumb. He was practicing his Ten, the one nen principle he was required to hold for an hour every day before his training intensified.

Something odd but incredibly beautiful happened then.

A memory surged through him. A remnant of his mother's aura carrying a piece of her memory. Her hands assembling the jewel together, polishing the jade, clasping a fastener to the necklace. Her long and dexterous fingers, her workplace, their house as she rose her gaze to see her husband smiling at the doorway. Elias saw it all, as though he were the one living through the memory. He saw his father with the cup of tea and he saw himself coloring out of the lines at his table—a pure act of rebellion—and he saw the necklace on the work table, disassembled but here.

For a long time, he thought he had hallucinated it. He wasn't in the best state, mentally wise. He could have made it all up in a vain attempt to see his parents one last time.

But then, it worked with other objects. His nen master's headband—memories of her hunter exam. His personal documents—his parents writing them down, him stealing them from his uncle before he ran away. His hunter license—the last time he took it out and stared at it before sleeping, wondering how he had gotten that far. His neighbor's letterbox—the breakup letter of her girlfriend and bills that accumulated. It was tiring, to seek these memories, to read them from the tiny scraps of aura he could pick from the objects. Most of them were blurry, uncertain, filled with scattered white noise.

But it was real.

And it was all that mattered.

* * *

"I need an object that has chances of holding memories. Usually works better if it's associated with strong feelings."

Killua tilted his head, a gesture Elias assumed he had taken from Hana. "Would you have strong feelings for a chair?" he asked, looking around.

"If the guy seating on it did, well…"

"How exactly do you pick the memories you need?"

Elias shrugged. "That's why I called it Time Seeker. The clock hands go counterclockwise to rewind past memories linked to the object. I need to have it in my hand—the clock, but also the object."

"… It's gonna take a long time to go back eight months backward."

"Yes, but it helps avoid interferences," Elias explained. "Back when I didn't have the Time Seeker, the memories played out randomly. I was unable to choose which one I wanted—and most made no sense at all."

Killua widened his eyes then. "Hey. You think you'd be able to use it on… other objects? You could solve any case with that ability," he said with a bit of wonder in his voice—and, frankly, that fascination filled Elias's chest with pride. "The comb, Gayan's letter about Penelope, Charybdis' cards…"

But Elias's lips stretched into a sad smile. "Doesn't work that way, buddy. I can't play every memory that's etched into the objects. I need it to be associated with strong emotions—or the person who used the object has to purposely leave traces of their aura." He scratched the back of his neck. "I've already tried it on Charybdis' cards. Found nothing. Either they felt nothing strong while writing the cards or they used Zetsu."

But Killua's enthusiasm didn't deflate. "Still. Gayan's letter, the comb. I'd bet my own hand you'd find something on them."

"Sure. But I don't promise anything," Elias warned. "It's a costing ability, I can't use it for very long or else I collapse." He gave a nervous laughter. "It's pretty pathetic."

"Any other time, I'd agree. But that ability is cool as fuck. Does it work with people?"

" _Thank God_ no."

Killua's laugh made Elias's heart jump a little. "Damn right."

Elias coughed, looking away from the beautiful disaster Killua Zoaldyeck was. "I need an object."

Without waiting, Killua picked up the empty bleach container. "Try with this. If we're lucky, one of the jailkeepers had to clean the blood and he hated it."

"Or excessively loved it," Elias mumbled. He shuddered at the thought.

"To each their own."

"Yikes." He took the bleach bottle. "Okay, trying this now."

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and focused his aura into the bottle. Time Seeker rewound and rewound, digging in the past for any memory linked to the object. The seconds weighed on him, each leap in the past another strain, and the further he went, the more aura he needed to feed the ability. The hands of the clock spun wildly, days and weeks and months flashing past as he peeked into the past.

Then, a blur. White noise. A dim room. Flickering lights. Uneven conversations cut through by rattling noises and loud banging heartbeats and ragged breathing.

And finally, a scene.

* * *

 _The bottle of bleach, in his gloved hand. Full. Heavy. Ready to accomplish its job. The smell was strong. Irritating. Obsessing._

 _A pool of blood, at his feet. Still warm, he knew it. There was no body, but he knew who he belonged to. He didn't come close. He couldn't. Not yet._

 _The cell door, behind him. Stained with blood, but open. Two people were mingling there. They spoke loud, argued about the mission they had to take._

 _The first person, afraid, but determined, was his friend, his partner, and the one person he could trust._

 _The other was something entirely else. Both human and not. His voice was altered, deformed. Otherworldly. He was the right arm of their boss but nobody knew who he really was._

 _All they knew was that he was powerful. Dangerous. Ruthless._

 _They called him the Ghost._

* * *

"— _the Boss's orders?"_

" _The Riverstorm forest is 5,000 acres of secrecy. You have the right to use your fucking brain and—"_

 _Fear. Danger. Smoke wafting in the room before the fire._

" _I want orders from the Boss himself," his partner argued._

"I'm _your boss," the Ghost hissed. "And you are going to do_ everything _I ask you to do."_

 _His gaze hurriedly settling on the blood pool before the Ghost saw him. Trembling hands. Beading sweat on his forehead._

 _Fumbling. Pretending to do something._

 _Then—_

* * *

 _A glimpse. Interferences. White noise._

 _Scratching—crying—screaming._

 _Noise._

 _Scream—_

* * *

" _The Swanriver? Where's that?" his partner asked._

 _The Ghost was still there. Calmly disclosing the mission to them, the burden of their task. "In the Riverstorm Forest. Deep into it."_

 _Again, he shivered. The Ghost, with his voice out of the tomb. Rumors said his voice was nen-altered. His identity was too precious, too valuable. Couldn't afford to expose it. All people knew was that he was a killer. With a flick of his wrist, dark smokes would erupt. With a snap of his fingers, people burnt and screamed and died._

 _He was darkness incarnate. An advocate of death._

" _Ain't that in the middle of nowhere?"_

" _Would you prefer to bury it in the Police Station?" the Ghost mocked._

 _At the sound of the biting remark, he turned to study the Ghost. His eyes twitched at the sight._

 _The Ghost had no face. Only a mask, made of smokes and noise, wafting around his face. His eyes alone peeked through the smoke mask. Cold, blue. The only remotely human thing about him. The only thing of him that didn't reek of destruction. Annihilation. Death. Infection._

 _The Ghost was a wraith and a curse and the plague and misery._

 _He—_

 _The Ghost turned._

 _Looked him in the eye._

 _Horror filled every inch of his being as he drowned in the Ghost's gaze, swallowed by the dark abyss._

" _Got it?"_

* * *

Elias emerged out of the memories with a loud gasp, stumbling back and dropping the empty bleach bottle. He caught the table before he fell, supporting himself the best he could.

Killua was by his side in an instant. "Hey, you okay?!"

He hastily nodded, still catching his breath. The individual with the smokes mask—even in the memory, he reeked of death and destruction. "I just—I might have seen some ghost or something."

"A ghost? Tell me."

"I—I'm not sure. There were three people; the guy who was cleaning the blood, his partner, and…" He frowned, passing a hand through his hair. "The Ghost? That's how he called this guy in his memories. He was so fucking creepy?"

"Describe him to me," Killua asked, his face focused.

"There was just—he had a mask. Made of smokes or something, something… like noise? Like you know the noise on TV screens? That kind of shit," Elias recounted, hands moving wildly as he explained. "His voice was altered—I dunno, he was clearly hiding his identity, and he emitted smoke or whatever?" He widened his eyes, understanding hitting him in the gut. "He's your guy, isn't he?"

Killua's face was grave. Lips pursed, eyes narrowed. "The Smokes nen user. Or Smokey, as Hana calls him." Endless possibilities flashed through his eyes—Elias couldn't follow him. "He's the one who crashed the party. Did you notice anything about him?"

But Elias shook his head. "Not much. He's tall, seems fit, has blue eyes. But there are countless people like that."

"It's already a start."

"More importantly, there was an address," Elias informed. "Swanriver. You have your phone?"

Killua typed the address on his phone. "Did you catch what's at this address?"

"Something they buried and that lost a lot of blood," he said, then scoffed. "Probably not a treasure chest."

"We'd better check," Killua mused. Then, as the route loaded, he frowned. "In the Riverstorm forest? That's an hour from here."

Elias stood straight. "We better go then."

Killua arched an eyebrow. "Never thought you'd show that much motivation for a pizza," Killua joked.

Yet, through his offhand comments, ever since Elias had used Time Seeker, Killua had been focused, pensive. Even as they exited the secret room, listed the tools they needed to fetch—gloves, a shovel, trash bags; anything for their fun Digging-Up-a-Corpse mission—and walked away from the warehouse, he didn't relax. He had something in mind—something linked to Elias.

When he finally talked, it did very little to enlighten Elias. "Are you a memory trader, Elias?"

Elias frowned, taken aback and all the more confused. "A… what?"

"A memory trader. Someone whose nen allows them to deal with memories. Either their own or other people's."

"… I don't know? I never asked myself the question. Is it important?"

"It could be," Killua confirmed—but he lowered his voice.

"Is there something fundamentally different from me and other nen users?" Elias asked.

"I'm not sure. I'm trying to know myself. Better to keep this knowledge to yourself."

"That I might be a whatever-you-called-it?"

"A memory trader. I'm still unsure if it's critical knowledge or not."

"I'll probably forget it by tomorrow anyway," Elias mused. "Let's focus on more important stuff. Like my pizza. And my buffet."

"And I thought I was a walking stomach," Killua joked, again, though his brow was still furrowed. Something was still bothering him.

"Yo, you're really pensive," Elias said, studying Killua's face. Seriousness became second nature to Killua whenever work was involved, but what Elias saw in his face was graver than that.

Killua glanced at him, but nothing transpired in that gesture. "I'm wondering if we're not heading into a trap. Don't you think it was a tiny bit too easy to get that address? What was that bottle of bleach doing there?"

It took some time for Elias to understand what Killua was implying. "You think it was placed here on purpose? By whom?"

"Whoever wants us to unearth the corpse." He eyed Elias. "Or whoever knows you're a memory trader."

Elias started. "Wait, you think it was for me? How would they know I have the ability? Or that I'd even come with you to the warehouse? The only person who knows I'm with you is Hana. And Hana would make a lousy villain, honestly."

(Killua took a few seconds to think—Elias could practically see the comical conclusion drawn on his face: Hana would be the worst villain in existence.) "But remember, they have spies everywhere," Killua warned. "We should just assume the info will reach them somehow. Assume they know you and I were at the warehouse. They know I don't have any memory-reading ability. But they don't know about you. If Smokey doubted even a second that you had such an ability, this could be the proof he needed. I can't believe someone who commits the most perfect crimes in plain sight like him would forget an empty bottle of bleach loaded with memories there."

"He wasn't the one who used the bleach," Elias argued.

"But he was the one who ordered the jailkeepers to clean the blood. He gave them the address himself."

"And exposed a part of his identity?"

"He's not perfect. It's not like it exposed him completely."

"Your entire reasoning is based on him being a perfect criminal, though," Elias said. "Look, I thought it was too easy too. But you should remember one thing: no one knows about me. Literally no one. Not even my nen master. I've never used Time Seeker in front of anyone before you. Your villain has no way to know I'm a whatever-you-called, because I've never left any hint about that."

"Even then, if he knows memory-trading is a thing, he could fill in the gaps. With your ability, you can know things nobody knows. Faem or his right arm could have inferred it from that."

Elias stopped walking and grabbed Killua's shoulders, looking him in the eye. "Hey, you worry too much. Faem isn't perfect. You stole his identity from Mulgrad before. You survived the poisonous smokes of the Ghost. You know things he doesn't know. Even he can let things slip. Even he can forget an empty bottle of bleach in a hideout he thought to be secret."

Killua remained silent for an instant. Then, he visibly relaxed, though his gaze was still clouded with lingering doubt. "I just hope we're not making a huge mistake."

"What do you suggest, then? Leaving the corpse?"

With a long sigh, Killua gave in. "I guess not. We need the closure—and the body's examination could bring new info."

Elias let go of Killua's shoulders. "Good. So even if they somehow know about my ability, it's a risk I'm a willing to take. We need to make things move on."

"… I can't believe you're making sense."

"I always make sense. You just don't always have the ability to understand me."

Killua rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I can't believe I was worried about you."

"You were seriously worried? About _me_?" Elias asked, confused. "Why?"

Killua turned toward him, his eyebrows knitting in a deep frown and his gaze screaming disbelief. "Because you're my friend? Why are you even asking that?"

The warm words hit Elias deep in his cold, lonely, human-closeness-craving heart. Killua rarely gave demonstrations of affection—not out of the blue. It was the first time he called him that—'friend'—and Elias could still barely believe it was really happening. He was really bonding with Killua. He was really considered a friend by Killua. He was really part of his circle, and of Hana's, and they were really sincere, and he was really genuine about them.

They were really friends.

"Hey, what's wrong with you?" Killua trudged carefully, eyeing him. "Did I weird you out?"

"I weirded myself out," Elias blankly replied. "Still can't believe I have actual friends."

"… Why?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. Perhaps because I've avoided getting attached with anyone for years, so I'm shocked and learning to get used to it." His voice sounded grim, almost solemn. An echo of the graves buried in his chest.

"Do you regret it?"

Elias smiled, a soft smile, light like a secret. "Never. I can flaunt my two new hot friends, why would I regret it?"

Killua smiled in return, gentleness shining through his eyes. "Seven billion people in that damned world and I'm here caring for some pizza-loving ass," he softly said.

"Thanks for reminding me you owe me a pizza. And a buffet."

Killua smirked. "The mission isn't over yet. You just spent ten minutes convincing me to dig up that corpse, so let's do it."

"Oh man, I really did that."

"You did. You missed an opportunity to be lazy. Can you believe that?"

"The shock," Elias scoffed. "Can't we at least take a cab or something? My legs still hurt."

A worrying, devilish smirk appeared on Killua's face. "I might have a way to speed things up."

"… And that is?"

A bolt of electricity snapped between Killua's fingers. "Wanna find out?"

Elias shouldn't have said yes.

He should have known those tiny bolts of lightning on Killua's hands weren't good news.

Because what Killua was about to do would make him forget every notion of dinner.

Down to the very definition of it.

* * *

A/N: Yaaaaaaaaaay some Killias/Ellua platonic bonding moments! Elias really needs friends. Poor boy is so happy and so scared to have friends, he reminds me of myself sometimes.

(Yeah all my OCs share stuff with me lol.)

Anyway! **What did you think of the chapter**? What was your favorite moment? I can't wait to see your thoughts! I loveee reading your reviews, they encourage me so much! ;w;

Next chapter is called **Unearthed** and you'll have some kickass (and sad) Hana, more Ellua moments, and more about Elias's emotional development! If you don't know what to say, just wish me luck for finishing chapter 33 (the one after Unearthed) and to keep writing in general… God knows I need it ;-;

And if you feel like playing... what pokémons do you think the PA characters would be (canon hxh characters included)?

Until then, cheers!

* * *

 _Then, he frowned, head perking up and eyes narrowing as he scanned the river. "Where are the swans?" he asked indignantly. "It's called Swanriver but there are no actual swans? I want a refund."_

 _Elias snorted. "Have you ever been to Tekelis?" he asked._

" _Yeah, two years ago."_

" _Well, there's a neighborhood called Villecock in the city. Can't tell you how disappointed I was when I realized it wasn't… what I thought it was about."_

 _Killua laughed. "You loser. I found the gay neighborhood barely one week after first coming to Tekelis," he proudly announced. "Went home with a cute guy the same night, on my eighteenth birthday."_

 _Elias groaned. "How about you just… I don't know, stop flaunting your sexual life in my face?"_


	33. Unearthed

**A/N** : Hey guys! I'm here for another kinda delayed update.

Anyway, **chapter 33 is done for good** , so there's that, but chapter 34 is really not done at all. I'm updating mainly because I _really_ need the support, and also because I don't wanna leave this story lying around without updates for too long. I might cut next chapter in halves if I run out of time. Which would be a pity but… yeah ;-;

I've also started an internship, and I have a commission to draw, so I have a lot less free time. I admit I'm getting a bit anxious over whether I'll be able to provide regular updates or not. A lot of that anxiety comes from the uncertainty over readers' response. I've been saying that since chapter 1 anyway. Please support your local dying author to motivate them and get regular updates.

Check my profile to see new art too! I commissioned **sleep-san** to draw Hana, and she looks adorable, check it out!

That being said, let's get to the chapter. Please pray that I manage to complete chapter 34 in time u_u" ;A;;;

* * *

 **Replies to guest reviews:**

 **Guest:** Hi! Thank you so much for reviewing! I'm so glad you liked platonic Ellua, they're really fun to write ;D I hope you'll enjoy this chapter too!

* * *

Chapter 32: **Unearthed**

* * *

 **11:12 P.M.**

 _Two-hundred and thirty-two._

 _Two-hundred and thirty-three._

 _Two-hundred and thirty-four._

Her muscles were screaming in agony. Abs, pectorals, deltoids. Biceps, triceps, quadriceps. A long line of burning muscles pulsing across her body like a map of seething volcanos. Stretching with the effort, contracting and relaxing and wrenching unceasingly. Her heart pumped at a frantic rhythm, heartbeats echoing in her skull so loud it rivaled the rhythmic song she had put in the background. And that pressing sensation, that she was about to burst out of her skin—heart too close to her ribcage, lungs begging for air, stomach sucked in as she contracted her abs.

But she didn't stop. She gritted her teeth and furrowed her brow and she continued. Her body rigid like a plank, palms flat on the ground, she pushed up, pushed up, pushed up. Sweat beaded at her forehead, tickling her lips and her nose before dropping on the towel below her. Her gaze was stuck on her hands firmly planted in the ground, fingers sprawled and bones prominent under her skin.

 _Two-hundred and fifty._

 _Two-hundred and fifty-one._

In through the nose, out through the mouth. She worked through that rhythm until an alarm beeped on the computer. She sprang up, striding toward the computer. There, she emitted a little cry of victory, not minding her sweaty face or her sore body.

"Finally!" she exclaimed—though no one was here to listen to her. "That piece of garbage works!"

That deserved a treat, she thought with pride. The first reward that went through her mind was a nice cold cocktail—one as cold as her throat was dry—but she refrained herself. She was craving something sweet and alcoholic, but the result would be disastrous if she started drinking again. Especially with all these new insecurities popping in her brain like weed in a damaged garden… Nope, not a good idea.

(Which didn't mean she would stop craving it.)

Without a further thought, she hastily sat on the desk chair and planned the next part of her task. Now that the neural network was trained and functional—courtesy of her super-computer—she needed to use it on the handwritings she had downloaded from Elias's website. (The Deep Web was full of resources if you used a cool VPN and didn't wander off too far.)

(… Usually.)

Problem was, supercomputer or not, the set of handwritings was enormous. Hundreds of thousands of files—if not more, depending on how many samples were collected per citizen. Even for a processor as performant as hers, the search and comparison to Charybdis' and Scylla's handwritings would take time. A day, she estimated.

So she'd better not waste any second.

She launched the program. A window popped up with an hourglass spinning at the corner of the tabs as the program processed the samples. Her eyes scanned the progress, checking everything was in order, and she got up.

Now all she could do was pray either Charybdis or Scylla had their handwritings in that set. And that if they did, the file associated would be clear enough to identify the writer. It would be just her luck to find a matching file but no writer name—she grimaced at the thought alone.

She grabbed her bottle of water, emptied it—the fresh water was a blessing after working out— and returned to her training.

After push-ups, crunches. Squats. Weights. Pull-ups. She made some room in her working room by pushing the table against the wall, and repeated punches and kicks until she nearly accidentally broke the table.

Only then did she stop, sweaty and exhausted after two hours of exercises that left her with the same conclusion: she needed more space. More _indoor_ space. With unbreakable walls and soundproof windows so her racist neighbor didn't think she was killing someone every night.

She swept her bangs up, stopped the music, and sighed.

What she needed was the HCDS's training room.

She used to have all the room she needed at the HCDS, when she trained with the other apprentices, and then with Allan. High ceilings and spacious rooms with all the equipment to kick and lunge and punch and yell. Lynd had suggested she came to the police station to train with her—and it wasn't a bad idea. But she missed the feeling of sparring with fellow hunters and challenging them for friendly fights and using the entire training room as a battleground. The raging nen battles as apprentices blasted their abilities at each other—super strength and nen beasts and punches going so fast they broke the barrier of sound. Noor and her glass conjuring, Valencie and her air-cutting speed, their master Zhu and his army of mud soldiers to defeat. And Allan, putting her up against his nen beasts, training her to survive against all elements.

She missed being at the HCDS.

She shuddered at the thought, tucking it away as fast as it had come. That wasn't something she was ready to admit just yet.

Because she wasn't ever going back.

Not in a million years.

Next came nen training. Which was easier because all she had to do was stand still and keep her aura around her for as long as she could. Ten, Ren, Zetsu, and the inevitable Hatsu practice to make sure Sae didn't get rusty. Usually, nen students stopped practicing their Ten every day as soon as their hatsus were steady enough—they then focused on Ren, to make it last as long as possible. Once you proved yourself, it was necessary to regularly practice and slowly push your limits, but it was recommended to take a safe and slow pace.

In all her years of training, the only person she knew who had ever broken that rule and lived was Killua—and consequently, Gon. He had told her it was before the war, to speed up their training so they stood a chance against the King's Royal Guards.

Nothing about Killua and Gon's training had been conventional—the brutal way their nen had been awoken, followed by the brutal way they had to find their hatsus, followed by the brutal nen training to keep their Ren steady. They had both gotten stronger with slaps and deadlines and intense trainings that very few people would have withstood.

Hana's training had been more conventional. Admittedly, a little harsher than most nen users because she had proven to be a little bit of a genius when she was younger, but far from the monster rhythm of Killua's training. She had taken her time, to discover her aura and get used to it, to analyze weapons and produce her own. He had taken it the hard way—and had let his natural talent lead him through the way.

She closed her eyes.

Hana had never lost this habit to do the beginner nen lineup before practicing her Hatsu. Ten, for a few minutes, to feel her aura flow on her skin in a thin, silky envelope. Ren, to make it boom and surge with power, to make the lights flicker and the glasses tremble and the ground rumble beneath her feet. Zetsu, to shut it all down. Silence and stealth. She existed no more.

And then Hatsu.

Sae conjured by her side, her dependable, versatile, extensible power. With the usual lineup of letters on the welcome screen.

 **Which mode would you like to use?**

 **1\. S**

 **2\. A**

 **3\. E**

Her finger hovered over the different options. She picked the Shooter mode first, making sure both the dual-wielding and single pistol modes functioned correctly, then chose the rifle version and repeated the same process. It wasn't like she could just randomly shoot stuff in her apartment—she didn't want the police banging at her door, especially with her racist neighbor who thought all Tanaleans were dangerous thugs and narrowed her eyes every time Hana had a suspicious bruise. Even though Hana was kind of more of a thug-catcher than a thug, but hey, racists gotta hate.

The Analyzer was up next. Gun, gauntlet, and free use versions. Since there were very little risks that her neighbor would hear or feel anything, it was safe enough to test it out. As expected, everything worked perfectly—and the good news was that no one had tried to infiltrate her place since there was no stranger nen, so yay?

Now… the only thing left was the Eraser mode. The one mode she hadn't used in two years, and the one mode that severely needed training.

A thrill shook through her arm as she hovered near the third option. Her finger was an inch from the screen, so close yet so far from unleashing that hidden but useless ability of hers. An ability with endless potential that she was terrified to use, terrified to _misuse_. How ironic was it, that one of the rarest powers was in her hands, born from her own aura, but she still wasn't strong enough to use it. Her own power. Her own creation. Too much for her to use.

She clenched her jaw.

Could she have saved David? Was there a chance, as small as it was, to stop the curse from spreading? After two years avoiding the Eraser, two years blatantly ignoring her own training in a vain attempt to forget her failure?

How long would she keep playing the ostrich in the sand?

She pressed the third option.

 **Eraser mode activated.**

 **Please choose an available version below.**

She sucked in a breath. There was only one version available, the one Eraser she had always failed to use, except that one time she had captured Feri's curse. One success alone.

She gulped. Heart-pounding anticipation shook through her body, from head to toe and back in her chest where it pulsed on and on.

She was about to do it. She was about to use the Eraser.

She pressed on the available version.

Her magic happened then. Blue lines wove a sinuous way on her left arm, from the tip of her fingers to the defined line of her bicep, stopping right at her sleeve. She turned her hand, studying the patterns on her fingers, around her wrist, though her whole arm, the glowing blue vines tattooed on her skin. This was hers, too. Her work, her passion. Her ability.

What if she could finally learn to use it? The power to be indestructible. The strength to defeat the smokes nen user, to trick the Whisper, to protect those she loved, to protect herself.

She inhaled.

She had watched David die because she was afraid to use her raw, unhinged power. Now was the time she polished that gem. To stop that waste of power.

 _To grow stronger._

She focused a surge of power through her arm. The lines glowed brighter, lighting up with the aura flowing through them like a river finding its bed. Sae registered no curse to exorcize, but that didn't mean Hana couldn't practice. Holding the Eraser was about as hard as using it on someone else. It devoured energy, fed on her aura like a voracious beast, exhausted her before she could even think of helping anyone. So the first part of her training was evident: holding the Eraser for increasingly long periods of time.

For a moment, everything was going well. It was about as easy as holding a full-blast Ren for two hours—hint: that was not easy—but it was manageable. Draining, but manageable. She focused on the sensations—the prickling aura flooding her veins, the warmth running along her arm, the cold everywhere else—prodding her way through that first try to change the flow of the aura, until it was comfortable. For now, it was working. She felt the airy power at her fingertips, ready to tear through any curse. She felt the conflicting notions of life and death right in her palm, of pain and power and curses and blessings.

For a moment, it seemed like she had everything in check.

It only took a few minutes for a catastrophe. A few seconds and no transition for the patterns glowing on her arm to burn with searing pain. She gasped, both in horror and surprise, but stubbornly held the power until whatever survival instinct she still had forced her to shut down the Eraser.

She dropped to the floor then, flat on her butt, holding her burning arm with the vines branded into her skin. With a slight wince, she touched the burn wounds, reassured that they were harmless, and immediately went to her kitchen to fetch a bottle of aloe gel. She applied the cold gel on her arm, letting her shoulders drop as the plant did its wonder to relieve her from the pain.

When she was done, she examined the lines branded in her arm, frowning in discomfort. She couldn't have held the Eraser mode for more than five minutes—and yet it was already backfiring. Disappointment flooded her—as strong as her initial greed had been. Every ounce of pride dissolved in a dark sea of doubts, and a familiar sensation lodged in her throat.

Failure, she realized. Shackled to her throat.

She would have to try again.

With a long sigh, she headed to her bedroom and flopped on the bed with her numb arm on her stomach. Only then did she feel the soreness in her muscles, the exhaustion spreading through her, the dull ache in her whole body. Joints, bones, muscles. Burns. Her heavy limbs sank in the mattress—but she couldn't rest. Her arm stung too much.

So did her self-esteem.

She closed her eyes. She was a little heady after her training but all too aware of the shame pressing in her chest. The disappointment, and she frustration at this incongruous situation. Having a blessed power and being unable to use it. Having a healing power that backfired on her—that _wounded_ her. What kind of exorcist _hurt_ those they tried to exorcise?

And then came the doubt. Eternal, cursed doubt. Emerging with the questions she tried to hide and submerging her with insecurities—those same issues she tried to coat with layers and layers of smiles. And with the rise of anxiety flooding her, another issue surfaced—one that had been prowling for weeks, that she had tried to ignore, normalize, rationalize in vain. One that had a name she loved and pretty blue eyes and fluffy white hair.

One that wouldn't trust her.

She exhaled. Her eyes were stuck to the ceiling, tracing the shadows of swirls and vines cast by her lamp on the wall. Tracing the burns of swirls and vines on her arms. Yet another failure branded on her skin.

She had met Killua three months ago. In March, on a light afternoon, this intriguing boy had stepped foot on her secret court with an air of confidence that would never leave him. She could never have thought, at the time, that she would fall for him, or that they would grow so close—so much that she couldn't imagine her life without him in it. It happened once in a million years to find someone that different and yet so similar, someone so compatible to her intense personality, someone so kind and positive in her life. In work or in friendships, they had grown inseparable, pushed each other to be better, and his presence had become a patch of safety.

He had made her open up. To him, but also to herself. To face her issues and recover from her trauma. Here she was, talking about the Whisper, voicing her insecurities, going to HCDS parties amongst people who didn't want to see her, and using her Eraser again. For the first time in years she finally felt like she was getting better—slowly, but surely. All with his help.

But it seemed to her it was the other way around for him. Because through all his quirks and his lopsided smiles, his serious moments and his many genius plans, Killua had never seemed scared around her. Never anxious, or afraid, or even remotely secretive. Everything used to be so simple. His insecurities were there, but they weren't directed at her—he didn't flinch away whenever she was disgruntled, or get tense when she was curious about his past. He had never looked uncomfortable, like he was trying to stifle a part of him—one that overflowed with anxiety.

So why was it all changing now? Was it because of the romantic twists in their friendship? Was it why he never broached the topic—of what they had become, what they _would_ become?

What was she doing wrong?

She bit her lip, stopping it from quivering.

Killua had always respected her silences. It was his patience that had made her share her burdens—his everlasting, blessed patience. He had been a beacon of light in her life ever since he had taken a part in it. And she wanted was to do the same—to help him, with whatever hid behind the dark veils in eyes. With his secrets and his issues, the things that kept him up or woke him in cold sweat in the middle of the night.

But she couldn't. Not if he wouldn't talk.

Was that what he had felt, when he had found her in her kitchen, drowning in her own tears and snot and a gross pool of wine? The frustration and the questions and the vague inadequacy?

Was that how she had made him feel?

Her chest constricted at the thought. Panic prowled right there—uncalled for, unwelcome, but not unexpected. It wasn't like she ever did anything else. Freaking out, panicking, crying; that was her specialty. Meanwhile, he was there, picking up whatever semblance of confidence she had thrown away in a fit of insecurities, caring for her, keeping to himself. And never ever had she bothered about how she had made him feel when she shut herself out to wallow in self-pity.

She exhaled. Sat down slowly, controlling her breathing before it became ragged. Tried to make some sense of all that ugly in her brain.

 _Calm down_ , she thought _. It's not the same. Killua wouldn't think like that_.

She inhaled deeply, working on relaxing her body and untangling this big bad mess. If Killua were here, he would tell her that she was worrying for nothing—that he was fine, that he wanted to help her, that she wasn't her mistakes or the things her trauma whispered in her ear. He would tell her to relax, drink water, punch a wall, shoot some hoops. He would be here to listen to her, always.

And all she wanted was to return the favor.

Because, though she had been beating around the bush for weeks, she knew exactly why he wouldn't open up to her. And she knew why she had never seen those looming secrets before, those split seconds during which he braced himself for a blow that wouldn't come, those fears he tucked behind a sloppy smile or a casual joke.

It was because it had all begun with her. With the reality of their mutual attraction. With their kiss. With the previous night.

With _them_.

"Goddammit, stop it," she breathed, burying her face in her hands, massaging her temples. She seriously needed a holiday from her own brain. She was overthinking _again_ and when she overthought she ended up doing something stupid.

So she just exhaled soundly, crushed by the sinking realization that she wasn't as good for Killua as he was for her.

She had to talk to him.

She had to help him out of whatever she had started. Clear things up, make sure they were on the same wavelength. Make sure she stopped doing whatever caused this anxiety in him. If her presence caused him to relive something painful, she couldn't stay quiet about it.

And if she turned out to be toxic for him, she would leave.

Her lips trembled at the thought. Tears pricked her eyes—she blinked them away. She'd rather be miserable than make him miserable. She couldn't afford to be sentimental now.

She would fix whatever she had done to him.

* * *

 **Sunday, May 31st**

 **2:02 A.M.**

"THIS IS THE WORST FUCKING IDEA EVER I'M GOING TO DIE AND IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT KILLUA WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO AND—"

Jesus. _Jesus_. Elias was so damn loud. So damn freaking loud he was all Killua could hear. They were moving at lightning speed with a screeching electric storm all around them, and yet all Killua could hear were Elias's desperate supplications and ear-splitting screams of terror.

So Killua did the only thing his petty ass could do.

He picked up the pace.

" _EEEEEEEP_ DID YOU JUST ACCELERATE WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS I'M GOING TO DIE TONIGHT AND I HAVEN'T EVEN HAD MY PIZZA YET _PLEASEDONTDOTHIS_ —"

It was in moments like these that Killua felt deeply and clearly the meaning of a thinning patience. A saying that usually was amusing to him suddenly meant the world to him. Because it was all he felt. The sensation of tiptoeing on a thinning, shredding string flanked above an abyss. And with every scream, Killua felt closer to let himself fall.

Or let Elias fall. That could work too. If he ever let go of Killua's neck. Because Elias was nearly choking Killua with his big arms around his neck and crying like a baby while Killua debated whether to knock him out or not.

They were two minutes away from the Riverstorm forest. Two minutes of Elias crying and koala-hugging him like his life depended on it while Killua worked with Godspeed and a crying Elias on his back.

Two minutes. He had to bear that for two. More. Freaking. Minutes.

Elias yelped as Killua leaped above a moving car, a lightning bolt flashing past. "I'M DYING HERE! Can't you be more considerate?!"

"I'm saving us precious hours!"

"HOW ABOUT SAVING MY PRECIOUS ASS?!"

"ALREADY DONE ONCE! WOULDN'T DO IT AGAIN!" Killua shouted.

"YOU'RE SO MEAN!"

"THINK OF THE DAMNED PIZZA AND SHUT UP!"

It worked like a spell. Elias stopped blabbering and instead buried his head in Killua's neck. His stubble was scruffy against Killua's skin, breath hoarse with terror—and his arms were still tightly fastened around Killua's neck.

The two remaining minutes went by much faster with Elias silent—or at least, it felt that way. When they arrived and Killua gently let him down, Elias stayed on the ground for a long moment, staring at the trees and sky silently while Killua worriedly wondered if he hadn't broken his friend.

"Um… Elias?"

"What just happened?" he weakly asked, eyes still wide, staring at nothing.

"Awesome just happened," Killua fired back, almost offended that this was Elias's only reaction to Godspeed. "Also you screaming."

Elias abruptly sat back. "Huh. I sure thought riding you would be a lot more fun than that," he spat, sulking like a big kid.

Killua simply shrugged. "It's fun alright. Ask Hana."

He was on his feet in a second—and Killua had to level his gaze at him as he did. Sometimes he forgot Elias was taller than him; he tended to slouch when he walked. A big cowardly giant. "Whatever. This is the last time you Godspeed me like this."

"Sure. You'll just walk home. Or call a cab, if you have any signal. Alone. In the dark. In the middle of nowhere. With wild animals hungry for young flesh," Killua teased as they started walking toward the Swanriver. "And _no pizza_."

That last sentence made Elias wince in horror. "Okay, you win. Stop saying atrocities like that. Just knock me out before Godspeeding back, then."

"Sure," Killua said with a wide grin. "Will be a pleasure."

"You sound a little bit too happy about that. That pizza better be worth it," Elias mumbled to himself. Killua smiled at the sight—Elias sulking and going through hell for one damned pizza.

He looked around the scenery then.

The Riverstorm forest had a ghostly feel to it. The thick atmosphere, heavy with petrichor and choking humidity, set an eerie veil around the forest. As though it were alive, a giant with a coat of leaves dripping with dew and eyes of moon piercing through the thick foliage. The windows to the outer world. Creatures roamed, bugs and birds and beasts— with eyes peering through bushes, claws scratching against trunks, wailing and chirping and hooting and the occasional screeching.

In the forest, time seemed to still. The twisting trees enclosed them in their own world, one far from reality, one crawling with spirits and wraiths that whispered in the grass. A cold breeze whistled in the trees—a spectral plea, like the dry laughs of ghosts cackling around them.

He shivered. Felt observed. Not by one, or two spectators. But by an entire army of ghosts, dead soldiers calling for him, trapped in the trees he brushed as they walked on.

As though the trees held life.

"This place is creepy as fuck," Elias broke the silence, voicing out loud what they had both been thinking. "What's up tonight? Why are all the places we go straight out of horror movies?"

"Guess we're lucky. Can't wait to meet a corpse."

A gerbil leaped from its spots, hopping away—and Elias nearly jumped in Killua's arms. "Just kill me already."

"Whenever you want," Killua joked. His smile died when he saw a broken, half-erased wooden sign. "Hey. Look."

He brushed the surface of the sign. It was damp, covered with erratic dents—and the ends were chipping away. But the inscription on it was clear enough.

"The Swanriver," Elias read, keeping his voice down. "It's pointing right. We're right on track."

And sure enough, they were. After following the path indicated by the sign, Killua saw something shiny and moving—like the glimmer of the moon on a water surface.

And he was right.

Here was the Swanriver, vast and pure and just as ghostly as the forest is was trapped into, in all its peculiar splendor. The clearing was enveloped in a light fog, airy mist prickling his nose. The surface of the river reflected the moon, a pale twin undulating with the tiny waves breaking the calm surface of the water.

And everything was quiet. A silence only disturbed by the ripples of the water lapping against the shore and the crickets chirping in the bushes.

He took a step forward, watching his feet. The soil was damp—almost moving under their feet. Their soles dug in the muddy ground at certain areas.

Then, he frowned, head perking up and eyes narrowing as he scanned the river. "Where are the swans?" he asked indignantly. "It's called Swanriver but there are no actual swans? I want a refund."

Elias snorted. "Have you ever been to Tekelis?" he asked.

"Yeah, two years ago."

"Well, you know there's a neighborhood called Villecock in the city. Can't tell you how disappointed I was when I realized it wasn't… what I thought it was about."

Killua laughed. "You loser. I found the gay neighborhood barely one week after first coming to Tekelis," he proudly announced. "Went home with a cute guy the same night, on my eighteenth birthday."

Elias groaned. "How about you just… I don't know, stop flaunting your sexual life in my face?"

Killua shrugged. "Why? Like _you_ have troubles picking up people," he said. But when Elias didn't answer, he eyed him with utter disbelief. "Elias?"

"It's not that I have troubles," Elias started, looking anywhere but at Killua. "I just… don't want to."

He blinked, taken aback. Elias, who had been flirting with him non-stop since day one, who constantly tried to seduce him or joke about how he would steal Hana away, who had casually implied on many occasions that he'd be down for a threesome with them anytime… was shy with intimacy? "Why not?"

"Um, are we psychoanalyzing me?" Elias dodged, bracing himself.

Killua shrugged, willing his voice to sound casual. "I'm curious. And I don't want to do or say anything that makes you feel uneasy. If I wrongly assumed something about you, I want to apologize for that."

"You're a lot sweeter than you pretend to be," Elias mused with a soft smile. "It doesn't make me uncomfortable. I'm the one who's always flirting with you anyway."

"Then why?"

There was a short silence. "I'm that idiot who falls for the people he sleeps with. And I don't want to get attached."

"Okay, you're not a casual sex kind of guy, so what? There's nothing wrong with that," Killua said. "But why don't you want to get attached?"

Elias shrugged. "Don't wanna. It's a hassle. Scary. Kinda like enjoying a bowl of M&M's and suddenly chewing on a rock."

"Why would there be rocks in a bowl of M&M's?"

"Because!"

Killua opened his mouth—then changed his ways. "I understand. Getting attached to people is scary. And sometimes it hurts—" his eyelids twitched in memory—glimpses of the nerves-wracking arguments, of all the times he lay next to Xoelle with no more energy to give, a closed shell she was so desperate to open up while he refused to open up to her. "—but it'll wear you down to avoid it."

A faint smile brushed Elias's lips. "You worrying for me?"

"Are we having that conversation again?" Killua asked, almost glaring at his friend. "We're friends. Of course I'm worried about you."

Elias eyed him warily. "Don't say that. You're gonna jinx it."

"Jinx what? The fact that we're friends?"

"Shh! What did I say about jinxing it?!"

Killua grabbed Elias's shoulders. "We're friends, El. Nothing's gonna jinx that. Now, why are you so afraid to get close to people?"

Elias stared at Killua, dumbfounded for a long moment. "You just called me 'El'. You just gave me a nickname. That's like, top-level friendship. Holy shit. Do—do I get to call you a nickname too? Like Lua?"

Killua let go of Elias's shoulders. "You're escaping—and don't call me Lua, it sounds like some Pokémon name."

"We have a corpse to dig up, _Lua_ ," Elias dodged. "You really think you have time to listen to my feelings now?"

With a little shrug, Killua tapped his foot on the soil. "He's been dead for nine months. I don't think he'll mind spending a few more minutes in there." He sat on a nearby, huge rock. "You can talk to me."

Elias rubbed his nape. He looked torn—as though a part of him did want to talk, to share his burden, but the other…

"It's okay, El. I won't force you to talk if you don't want to," Killua assured. He could feel Elias's restlessness as if it were his own—it showed through his uncoordinated movements and nervous tics. He wouldn't look at Killua.

Eventually, he sat next to Killua. His gaze wouldn't settle on anything—and especially not on Killua. Eyes unfocused, lost in the distance. Hands fumbling, playing with his bracelet. Mouth opening and closing, repeatedly. All of him expressed this same paradox; the longing to talk mixed with the fear to share. Like a need buried deep in him, that he had never dared explore—never been given the opportunity to—, was suddenly begging to be quenched. A closed safe peeking through a small opening, one Killua had offered.

"I've never mentioned this to anyone," Elias finally admitted. He ran a hand through his tousled hair. His eyes caught moonlight, reflecting the glimmer of the water. "Ever since my parents died, I just… I guess I just didn't want to lose anyone else."

In the silence, Killua's mind reeled. "You can't lose people you don't get close to, right?"

"Yeah," Elias agreed, a sad smile on his lips. "I've avoided making friends, falling for people, all that corny shit, for years. I just—I don't want to ever feel like I felt after losing my parents."

"Like you felt?"

A shadow passed on Elias's face. He fiddled with his leather bracelet for a moment, eyes lost in the river.

Then, he unfastened the bracelet.

And Killua saw it.

A faint, clean scar on his wrist. It slashed across his veins in an even line, lighter than his complexion. And most of all, it was a testimony of the pain Elias had been through. The dead-ends and the walls trapping him and the loneliness.

Killua rose his gaze, calm eyes meeting Elias's. He was solemn, eyes filled with a myriad of emotions. "I was fourteen," he said. "When I tried to kill myself."

As much as Killua wanted to stay calm, he couldn't help widening his eyes. Because all he could imagine was a fourteen-year-old boy, still so young, still unaware of all the beautiful things in life, with a pain so immense his only solution was death.

He swallowed.

Just how much had Elias suffered?

"You missed your parents," Killua finally said, his voice soft, as though he didn't want to disturb the dead parents that slept in Elias's memories.

"There was that," Elias started. "And there were other things."

"Other things like?"

Elias shrugged. "The fact that the whole village looked down on me. That they cried my father's death but not my mother's." A humorless laugh tore through his mouth. "Some even said my father only got what he deserved, for marrying my mother."

"Why?" Killua breathed, eyebrows knitting in a deep frown. "Why would they do that?"

Elias stared at him. His gaze was hard—but the resentment wasn't directed at Killua. "Because she was Tanalean."

Disgust seized Killua. Because, as terrible as it sounded, it explained everything. The resentment people had against Tanaleans had always been violent—and it horrified him to no end. The whole prospect of treating another human being as less than that because of innocuous aspects of them—gender, sexuality, ethnicity, and then more—filled him with disgust. It was in moments like this one that he understood what June had said, about losing faith in humanity.

And in moments like these that he needed to cling the most to the beauty he had seen. Leorio in Tanalea, calming families and treating the wounded for free in poor areas abandoned by health organizations. Leorio holding an old woman's hands, reassuring her in broken Tanalean that he would save her daughter. Leorio operating with the little means of the local hospital, with his nen alone as his guide. And the children Killua had played with while Leorio healed their parents. Their kindness and compassion and their imagination and all their potential.

"Where did you grow up?" Killua asked, emerging from his memories—carrying a toddler on his hips, while a flock of little kids mingled around him, begging him to play with them. Clad in local clothes, sitting in the shadows while the kids played with his hair. Bouncing his leg so the toddler sitting on it didn't cry.

"Vynikonos," he replied. "A small Greek island. My father was born there—and then he studied to Athens. I think he always knew this village was shit." The corner of his lips tipped up. "Then he met my mom in Tanalea. He was an archaeologist and she was a goldsmith. She revived some old passions of his—making jewels, drawing abstract art, that stuff."

"And you were born in Tanalea?"

"Yep. For real, the first few years of my life were bliss." His smile died. "Then my grandfather died, and as the oldest kid, my father had to go back to Vynikonos to take care of family matters. And it turned out everything was so shitty he couldn't leave—so my mother followed him."

Killua exhaled as Elias fastened his bracelet around his wrist, hiding the tear of his past. "And that's when things got sour."

"Pretty much. My dad's family hated my mom." He scoffed. "Everyone did. Even when she was dead, people took out their hatred of her on me. I swear, I walked home after school to grown ass adults mumbling racist slurs at me. I was twelve and my parents had just died," he spat.

"It's fucked up," Killua breathed. He could barely fathom it—a child, a _grieving_ child, exposed to vile hatred.

"Yeah." He shrugged. "Didn't help the whole depression thing. I felt so lonely and hated in that village."

"Definitely didn't help. Probably made things worse." He glanced at Elias's now covered wrist. "The feeling that you had no one to rely on, that you were alone in the world with no escape… that's probably what drove you over the edge."

Elias's gaze filled with sorrow. "You're perceptive."

Killua put a hand on Elias's shoulder. "Only realistic. What you did—it was a result of how they treated you."

"They said I was weak. My uncle, his wife. My grandmother on my father's side. They were the only ones who knew. They choked the secret before it got out—it would sound bad if word got out their nephew had made a suicide attempt." Again, that rueful, bitter smile. "Though I don't think anyone would care, really. They were just playing nice to receive money from the mayor. I swear my entire teenage life was like some goddamn emo sappy movie. The only people who genuinely cared about my sorry ass were a hunter who was barely ever there, my school's principal that I avoided like the plague, and a girl I had a crush on, named Dafna, who could never be with me because her parents wouldn't let her. You could put me in _Les Misérables_ and it'd be believable."

Killua considered what he had just said with sorrow. "But you weren't weak. You were suffering. Because of their abusive asses." He let go of Elias's shoulder. "Now you've grown. You've changed. I know it's hard to let yourself love after losing your parents, and even harder to trust after what those racist fuckers did to you, but…" He paused, looking for a way to word his thoughts. The warmth and the laughs and the bubbling happiness he had experienced, after years trapped in his own house. Gon, Leorio, Kurapika, Ikalgo, Weran, Mag, Maya. Alluka. Hana. "But people can be full of surprises. Some people have so much good in them, and your life will be infinitely better if you let yourself form connections."

An amused expression played on Elias's face. A little patch of sunlight in the cold night. "What do you think I'm doing?"

Killua stopped short, blinking. "Huh?"

"You think I talk about my past to just anyone? Or show my scars to every hot guy I meet?"

A grin took over Killua's face. "You mean I'm special to you?"

"What the hell?" Elias blinked repeatedly. "Remind me who kept saying that corny 'we're friends El!' shit?"

Killua chuckled. "I consider us friends. But that doesn't mean you have to trust me."

Elias elbowed Killua. "Of course I trust you," he mumbled. "You and Hana, you—make me want to try again." He shifted uncomfortably, looking anywhere but at Killua. "Even if I might lose you one day."

"Hey," Killua called, waiting for Elias to look him in the eye. "You won't lose us."

"You can't know what happens in life, Killua."

"No, you can't. But that's not something we can't control. As much as I'd like to." He glanced at Elias's focused gaze, unsure of what he was seeing. "And you can't stop living in fear that you'll lose those you love."

"I know. I'm still learning that," he said, his voice a bare whisper. "You're worth the risk."

Killua's heart hiccupped at the words. He flashed a grateful smile, elbowing Elias. "You are so cheesy, I could almost hug you."

Elias simply mumbled something unintelligible, then jumped on his feet. "How about we dig up that corpse now? I'm craving some decomposing zombie flesh right now."

"… You're disgusting."

"Gotta hold my reputation," Elias joked, looking vaguely uncomfortable and just plain awkward after his confessions.

So Killua played along and didn't press him. "I might have an idea of where the corpse was buried."

"Really?"

He stood up, sauntering toward the center of the clearing. One could almost believe he was going for a night stroll with a friend rather than digging up a nine-months-old corpse from the ground. "Look over there," he said and pointed toward a tree. Its roots were twisting above the ground—Hana had called them 'bridges for fairies' when they had gone hiking together for the first time.

Elias followed his directions, cautiously nearing the roots. "What about it? I mean, besides looking like it's alive?"

Killua nodded at a chipped, white stick protruding from the ground, hidden by the clawing roots. "Let me introduce you to what was once Eugene's femur."

Elias, who had been about to poke the bone, yelped and jumped back. "His WHAT?!"

A cheeky laugh escaped Killua. "Relax. I doubt it's gonna bite you."

"What's his _bone_ doing there though?!"

"I guess some wild animal dug it up, gnawed it, didn't find it to its taste, then hastily buried it back." He fetched the shovel they had placed against a tree, then dislodged the broken bone from the ground while Elias grimaced at the sight. "So if I'm right, the body shouldn't be far." He stared at Elias with a huge smile. "I even think you might be standing on top of it."

The speed at which Elias jumped away would have put any deer out of business. "DAMMIT."

Killua laughed. "Just kidding. You're so easy to mess with."

Elias narrowed his eyes, as though he was about to say something snarky but was considering if Killua was cute enough to let it slide—Killua knew, because he had the exact same effect on poor Hana. "Just dig up that body and let me sleep."

"Roger that."

Killua planted the shovel in the soil, near the location of the bone he had first found. With his boot, he pushed the shovel deep, tilted it sideways, then removed a chunk of mud that he dropped next to him. He repeated the operation, watching smaller bones come along the soil—a wild animal had definitely been there. The pile of earth next to him grew taller—as the hole grew deeper, with his relentless efforts.

Elias simply watched him. Arms crossed, eyes bored, he seemed happy to not be the one digging bones and dirtying his boots. "Aren't you gonna help?" Killua asked—though he knew it was useless—, all the while digging.

"You look like you're doing great. I'm cheering for you."

A scoff was all Killua could reply to that.

"I could even do the little cheerleader dance for you," Elias suggested, a silly grin crowning his most amazing reply.

" _Don't_."

His shovel hit some sort of textile.

He stopped digging, froze for an instant. "Bring me the gloves, El." He wore the gloves Elias brought him, removed the earth that masked his discovery.

It was a bag, made in hessian.

He frowned. Without waiting, he cleared the hole, revealing the bag in all its length. Next to him, Elias had worn his gloves too—he was grimacing at the sight, too. A hessian bag buried in the ground, torn at one end, long enough to hold a body.

There was no mystery.

Together, they grabbed the bag, one on each end, and hauled it out of the hole, gently letting it down on the mud. The bag was clammy, sticking to whatever remains of Eugene Priman it was holding, a decrepit and cheap shroud as wrinkled as a raisin—and just as disgusting.

They shared a long gaze. One full of anticipation.

This was what they had come for.

This was the horror they had come to dig up, the answers to their question, the one disappearance at the root of their cases.

Killua squatted. He grabbed each side of the bag on the end that was already partly opened, then tore the rest. Until it revealed its contents.

Elias exhaled, mumbling something that sounded an awful lot like a prayer.

For a reason.

Killua slowly stood up. His eyes were stuck on the bones covered in mud, the sparse patches of flesh that had resisted the decomposition, the little hair attached to the skull. A full skeleton—only lacking a femur and a few small bones they had already found sooner.

Eugene Priman, in all his dead glory.

"El… I think we've just unearthed all that's left of him."

* * *

 **A/N:** yo YO that concludes this chapter! And now you know that poor Eugene is very much dead. Will his corpse reveal new hints? WHO KNOWS! NOT ME! HAHA! (except I do know. Of course I know. Or I don't. :D)

Anyway, since a lot of you are too busy or lazy to leave reviews (I see y'all ghost readers yo), **I'm gonna make it easier for you:**

- **Send 1** for "wow!" with a nice Doge face.

\- **Send 2** for "nice chapter! I liked it!"

\- **Send 3** for "can I get my very own Killua? I need my very own Killua."

\- **Send 4** for "I'm gay and I'd kiss Hana. A lot. Lot. Lot."

\- **Send 5** for "Killua who? I'M HERE FOR ELIAS! MY BOY!"

\- **Send 6** for "Why would I choose? I'll have all three of them. At the same time. Or not. Or yes."

\- **Send 7** for "What's the boiling temperature of water in Kelvin?" (don't send that actually, it's 373K, you're welcome)

- **Send 8** for "You are an amazing author and also your dog is the cutest dog in existence" (and you are right about Roy my dear, he _is_ the cutest lil shit ever)

\- **Send 9** for "update pls thx" (it's okay, I'll take it)

\- And finally, **send 10** for hugs and kisses because I need those badly.

… or you could leave your own review too. That works too. I never say no? :D Just please let me know if you liked it? Or if you didn't? And why? 30 seconds of your time against hours of mine? :DDD

I can't tell you how next chapter is named because I don't know if it'll be cut in two chapters or not (in which case I'd change the title). But I'll do my best. Wish me luck!

Bye guys!


	34. Another Love

**A/N:** Hey guys! Thank you so much for waiting! I'm finally ready to update :D

And here's whyyyy *drumroll pls*: **Chapter 34 is done**! Yay! :D I finished it two days ago. Things are accelerating a bit lol. It's thanks to all of you who review this story, who encouraged me for last chapter when I was feeling demotivated, and who keep giving me love and encouragements. Thank you all so much for the love you show this story ;A; *hugs* It means everything to me. Now, I hope you'll keep supporting this story! I'll do my best to write chapter 35. I haven't started it yet but I will as soon as possible.

Life wise, things are hectic tbh. Internships are hard. I'm exhausted 24/7—hence why I need support to keep writing. I've started playing Overwatch too and it's really cool! Helps me unleash all my pent-up emotions lol. Also helps to unwind after a long day. I usually feel more energized thanks to it. But yeah things were pretty okay until now. Tonight I feel kinda… or well, really… down lol. I'm hoping updating will help.

On a happier note, if you wanna add me on Overwatch, feel free to send me a PM or an ask on tumblr! I'd be glad to play with you although I'm not very good yet.

Anyway, enough talking about me. Let's talk about the gorgeous drawing my wonderful Mars, **OooodlesOfNooodles** , drew for me! You can find it on my profile, it's a brilliant drawing of Hanallua with amaryllises and that surreal watercolor background! I died approximately 1,222,342,787,389,278 times while looking at it.

I also commissioned **masthya** to draw my babies at Pride! Check it out, it's gorgeous and makes me emotional.

Now I should stop talking. Read on, and tell me what you think afterwards!

Hope you like it!

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Replies to guest reviews:

 **Irem** : HIII! Thank you so much for your review! I hope things are going well for you! Thank you so much for your support and your kind words ;-; I'm okay really, but I've been in a weird spot since February and I feel like things get worse with time but oh well lol. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine *hugs* It's so adorable ;-; I'm glad the longer delays between chapter sound okay too! AND YESSS Thank you for what you said about Hana! You know exactly how to make me happy ;) I hope the weather gets better in your place XD

 **Llama** : (your alias is amazing btw XD) Thank you so much for reviewing! I'm so hyped that you read my story so fast! (I get so surprised when people read that monster fic in such a short time, like wow I'm so impressed!) I'm so glad you like Elias ;) Your theories are fun too XD *rubs hands together* I love readers' theories because I know exactly who is right :D Thank you again and I hope you like this chapter!

 **Kitkat** : Hello person with a delicious name! Thank you so much for reviewing! I like your enthusiasm :D Also "It's my favorite" I AM SO FHZKFJHZJGHJGKH AHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH! I hope you like this chapter!

 **Kiki** : OMG Thank you so much! Your review was sooo sweet and honestly I'm so glad you like the world-building! AND YES OMG YESSS the events are connected! That's exactly the feel I'm going for! Thank you omg ;A; Thank you for liking Ellua friendship moments too! *hugs*

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Chapter 33: **Another Love**

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 _And I wanna kiss you, make you feel alright  
I'm just so tired to share my nights  
And I wanna cry I wanna learn to love  
But all my tears have been used up_

 _On another love, another love  
All my tears have been used up  
On another love, another love  
All my tears have been used up  
On another love, another love,  
All my tears have been used up_

— _ **Another Love, Tom Odell.**_

* * *

 **2:08 A.M.**

Sirens howled in in the Riverstorm forest, on Sunday, May 31st, at 2:08 A.M., the day Eugene Priman's body was unearthed after eight months of disappearance. Eight months of silence and disarray, of questions finally answered, of doubts finally finding closure. And of hopes shattered by a shovel and the clammy evidence of a decomposing corpse.

But Killua was the only one to know that.

Police officers had quickly rallied to the forest's Swanriver after Killua's call, and the once calm shore had become their new busy headquarters. Paramedics, detectives, reporters, and forensics experts had joined them.

Among them, one familiar face: Lynd Terra, the police chief. Ever since she had arrived, she had been distributing tasks to her officers and collecting the results of the experts' preliminary examinations. Never mind that it was the middle of the night, she was as awake as Hana was at any time of the day after her daily eight coffees. And just as bossy. She had taken the reins on the crime scene as soon as she had stepped food on it. And Killua had to admit things were moving smoothly thanks to her.

As smoothly as they could. Because for all that smooth procedure, there was still an unidentified corpse emerging from the ground, and Killua and Elias were the only ones who knew who it used to be.

Not that they could say a word. It was already suspicious enough to have two guys lost that deep in the forest, digging up corpses for fun—though then again college boys sometimes did worse just for the kicks of it. They didn't need to know those same two guys knew exactly _whose_ corpse had emerged from the ground.

Killua exhaled soundly. His eyes followed the line of experts collaborating near Priman's corpse, but his thoughts were elsewhere. To the woman who, in a few days, would officially be in mourning of that husband she had lost. That same husband who had emerged from the ground eight months after seeing her last, half-eaten by worms and parasites.

He gritted his teeth. All of that had happened because of some damned comb. Because of Faem and that man who worked with him, that ghost with a mask made of smoke who sowed death wherever he went.

All of it because of a comb.

He passed a hand through his hair, staying close to the 'KEEP OUT' banners stuck to the trees. It created a small perimeter of work, but Killua wasn't sure anyone would want to be there. The Swanriver (With No Swans) was desert. Smokey wouldn't have chosen it as the perfect place to hide a corpse if that wasn't the case. Too bad for him that Elias could fish in memories.

 _Speaking of the devil_ , Killua thought, catching sight of Elias awkwardly answering an officer's question. Killua recognized the officer as Lynd's fiancé, Jino.

Elias sidled up to him, looking over his shoulder at Jino before turning toward Killua. "So many questions. Honestly, do I look like a guy who _knows_ things?" he hissed as soon as he was next to Killua.

"Not the slightest bit."

"Then why won't they stop asking questions!"

Killua smiled, keeping an eye on the officers. "They're right to be suspicious, for once."

Elias crossed his arms. "Is there some kind of etiquette about leaving a crime scene without being inconsiderate? Because I'm hungry as fuck right now."

"How can you think about food after seeing a damn decomposing corpse?" Killua hissed, casting one long, vaguely appalled look at Elias.

"Ho, don't even try to tell me you'd refuse a chocorobot right now."

"Chocorobots aren't _food_. They're _life essence_."

"… Whatever, weirdo."

Elias didn't stay long with Killua. Jino quickly called him back for more questions—which made Elias whine and mutter to himself 'why me and not you?' like a two-year-old forced to take a bath while his brother got to play longer. Though it seemed obvious to Killua, why Jino wasn't interrogating him.

They were letting Lynd, the police chief, deal with Killua herself.

The thought wasn't pleasant to Killua. The woman, though she was a close friend of Hana's, was intimidating as hell and had this determination around her that reminded him of a certain green boy. And Killua knew for a fact, dealing with people like her wasn't without consequences. He would have to be careful, not let his guard down.

In the meantime, he took his phone, opening his last conversation with Hana. His heart gave a little tug at her last message. 'Missing you,' with a little heart. He found himself smiling as he replied.

'Miss u too dork. I'll be home late tonight. I'll tell u later. Just don't wait for me to sleep. I'll sleep at my place' He almost instinctively added a 'love you' at the end, but refrained himself after nearly panicking over it. He wasn't going to make her more confused when he was already such a mess around her.

Besides, he'd rather tell her face to face. When the moment was right.

The thought both appeased him and sent his brain tumbling down an abyss of uncertainties.

He slipped his phone in his pocket, willing himself to forget how much he longed for Hana's presence.

It didn't take long for Lynd Terra to come question Killua. He knew the exact moment the idea popped in her brain—she had glanced at him with a remotely suspicious look gleaming in her eyes, all the while talking to an officer. He had known then that not only had she elaborated a long list of questions to ask him, but she also wouldn't buy the whole 'taking a stroll in a dark forest at 2 A.M. with a shovel'.

(… It wasn't such a stretch, was it?)

(…)

(Okay, it definitely was.)

Once she was done giving orders to her officers, Lynd joined Killua in the quiet spot he had picked as his own—under the arch of a tall, leafy tree, to observe the people mingling about the shore. If he didn't know better, he'd think she had been ready for this mission her entire life. She exuded confidence and power and the surety only a good leader emanated. The dark circles under her eyes alone betrayed her exhaustion.

"Mr. Zoaldyeck," she called—and Killua nearly flinched at his name. He hadn't given his last name to the police when he had called them. Among hunters, it was an accepted fact that the Zoaldyeck heir had become a hunter, but for most non-hunters he was still a myth—a dangerous one with that. "I'm sorry for not taking the time to talk to you. How are you holding up?"

Killua leveled Lynd's gaze, following her as she beckoned him to walk along the perimeter—it allowed her to keep an eye on the scene. "I'm alright. It's not me you dug up tonight."

She smiled faintly. "About that, I have a few questions for you," she announced, not bothering with small talk. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all."

She crossed her arm, seriousness hardening her gaze. "How?"

He blinked at her question. "Excuse me?"

"How did you find him?" she repeated, eyes boring into his. "You know what I'm talking about."

"I don't."

She glanced at him. "No need to pretend you don't know anything around me," she said under her breath. "I know this is Priman. And I know you've been working on his disappearance. You can drop the act. Your secrets are safe with me."

"Do you care to explain what you mean, Chief?"

"Call me Lynd," she said, extending her hand.

He shook her hand. "Killua."

"So, Killua," she started, pausing to word her thoughts. Her gaze was focused—she reminded Killua of a wolf, a leader born. "I've been looking for Priman for months. Followed every trace and tracked every hint. I found nothing."

Killua shrugged. "Pretty sure his wife never asked you."

"She didn't," Lynd concurred and frowned. "But it was my duty to investigate. I'm not going to shrug off a fishy disappearance just because some big heads in the Mafia still follow their Code of Silence."

He was tempted to shrug again, but she didn't look like she would appreciate. "How ethical," he simply said, ignoring the way she narrowed her eyes. "But how does that link you to me?"

"I'm getting there." Then, as he motioned her to continue: "Mrs. Priman never came to me about the disappearance of her husband. I'm not sure it's because she believes in the Code of Silence—part of me thinks it's just because she doesn't want to lose face in the Mafia."

"Nobody does," Killua agreed. "Losing face in the Mafia means you become a joke, a liability, or worse."

"A threat," she finished. "A leak in their structure. Something they'll want to get rid of before their whole circle is plagued."

"Plagued by you, I presume."

"Exactly. As soon as a member of the Mafia of Megamshill turns toward the authorities, they're banished. I'm assuming Mrs. Priman can't afford a ban after what happened to her husband."

 _Not if she wants to keep using underground resources_ , Killua thought. "I still don't get what I have to do with this."

She gave him a knowing look. "I know she hired a few detectives before you. Freelance. They all resigned. I've been keeping an eye on the activity coming from the Priman household and it seems like everything changed when you came."

Wariness surged him—how did Lynd know he had been hired by Arashi? Mostly, how was she so sure when even Faem had questioned it? "I do believe I'm a great influence wherever I go, but I think you're mistaken."

"Then tell me. What were you doing in such a remote place, and how did you find the corpse?"

"I already told you. A midnight stroll gone bad. We spotted the bones, got curious, dug."

"You often take midnight strolls with shovels? In the creepiest place in existence?"

"Is that really the weirdest thing you'd expect a hunter to do?" he joked—which earned him a genuine smile.

"No. I've seen worse," she concurred, and he could almost _sense_ she was thinking of Hana. "But I know you're not telling me everything." Her gaze settled into his own, her brown eyes determined. She reminded him of Gon, again—the sheer stubbornness whenever he set his mind to do something. "I need that info, Killua. I know Priman's death is linked to something greater. An entire sick plot I need to elucidate. And I need your help for that."

He shot a quick look around him—to make sure they weren't within hearing distance. "I've already told you what I knew," he lied. His gaze hardened as he bent slightly to speak lower. "You shouldn't meddle with the Mafia. If they know you're snooping around they won't be pleased. You know how they like the authorities. And how their settle their arguments."

She frowned. "I can fend for myself." As stubborn as a mule. Or a Gon. That worked too. "At least tell your client. Let her consider my help. Nobody will know if she works with me—I'm discreet. And she will need the resources I have access to." She exhaled. "I need a connection in the Mafia to dismantle this whole… thing. Think of it as a collaboration—my resources for hers. I help her find who hurt her husband, she helps me put this sick monster to jail. Because I know whoever did that to Priman isn't at their first kill. And it's my job to maintain order and law."

He cocked an eyebrow. Order and law…? "Again, I have no client to tell that to," he insisted—but his eyelids twitched ever so slightly. An ally in the police? The police chief herself? Maybe Arashi would like that. Maybe that could be their secret trump card. A silent agreement between the Law and the Rogue. _I'll let her know_ , his eyes said, peering deep in hers. _But don't say more. Not here_. "You're mistaken, Lynd."

She paused for an instant, eyebrows knitted together. Then, she slightly nodded. _Got it_. "Right." She passed a hand through her fiery hair. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me," she announced, louder, and gave him a business card with all her info on it. "You might have to pass by the station to give your testimony anyway."

He sighed. "Whatever."

"Until then," she briefly said, her eyes lingering on him. _I'm counting on you_.

All he did was nodding promptly, watching her join her officers.

Her words still rang in his head.

 _Whoever did that to Priman isn't at their first kill._

 _It's my job to maintain order and law._

He sighed.

If only she knew.

* * *

 **2:38 A.M.**

She wasn't sure how long she had been staring at the message.

'Miss u too dork. I'll be home late tonight. I'll tell u later. Just don't wait for me to sleep. I'll sleep at my place.'

Her thumbs hovered above the screen, her eyes stuck on the words that she read again and again. And each time, the rope around her throat tightened.

She needed to talk to him. She had to. But the more she waited, the more she felt her own anxiety pooling in her chest and seconds weighing in her throat—until she was suffocating.

Need turned into desperation. Desperation into fear.

 _I'm no good to him. Look at me panicking._

(Yeah, that last thought didn't help.)

She exhaled slowly through her mouth, working on her breathing to will her heart to calm down.

It was only when she had managed to convince herself to leave her phone alone that it burst into a wild melody. She nearly let it drop, startled by the loud music. It took her a few seconds to stop fidgeting and see who was calling.

And when she did, something switched in her. Anxiety became worry as she took the call.

Thomas never called this late for nothing.

"Tom?" she tried with a voice she willed as reassuring as she could. Thomas hated phone calls, that was a fact. He only ever called her if, one, she wasn't answering her texts and they were making time-sensitive plans (and usually he gave the phone to June to talk) or, two, and that was what she feared the most, he was feeling terrible and needed a presence by his side.

The sniffling sound on the other side of the line confirmed her fears. "Hey nerd," he croaked.

And her heart broke into a million pieces. "Tom, my Tom, oh my God are you okay? You want me to come?"

"No, it's fine," he quickly replied. "I just wanted to talk."

"Okay, I can talk. What do you want to talk about?"

There was silence on his side for a long moment. Then, he sighed. "I'm the worst boyfriend in existence."

She blinked, taken aback. "What? Why would you say that?"

"Because I am," he replied, resigned. He waited another moment, then his tired voice rose up again. "Tonight was June's group's premiere. Like, their actual first time on a real stage. They were going to perform three songs, and June was so excited to play for all these people and I—" His voice broke. He sniffled, took deep breaths as she encouraged him calmly. "I wanted to watch him, and he was so fucking proud of showing me all his work. And I just—got a huge panic attack in the middle of the concert. My brain just fucking lost it."

"Oh no," she breathed. "Are you okay?"

"Yes! I'm okay. I always am. June freaked out and brought me home and he almost missed his own concert to calm me down."

"But he had time to go back and perform, right?"

He paused. "Yeah."

She exhaled soundly. "Okay, good."

"No, not good," he argued. "I know he wanted me to see him. He must be so fucking disappointed and bitter and just… I let him down once more."

She settled more comfortable in her bed. "Tom, you didn't let him down. You can't control your anxiety. I mean, of course he's gonna be disappointed because he wanted to show you his work, but I think he's most likely very worried about you."

More sighs on his side. "I know he's worried. And I hate that. Literally all I do is just… make him worry. Make him accommodate himself to my anxiety or whatever. And it just fucking sucks. I'm so tired of my brain's antics, Hana."

"What do you mean?"

"I've got everything, every fucking privilege," he said, his voice wobbling. "I have a loving family, the best boyfriend I could hope for, a wonderful best friend, I study something and I work every day for my dream job, I have no financial issues and no physical illness and I never got to wonder how we're going to get by. I've got _everything_. So what the fuck is wrong with me? What more do I need?"

"Tom, my Tom," she started slowly, her chest overflowing with emotion. "Mental illnesses don't choose. You have some privileges, sure, but that doesn't mean your struggle isn't real. That doesn't mean it won't _hurt_."

"I know that, and still I—I keep feeling that I have no reason to feel that way." He moved, ruffling the sheets. "I just wish I could be here for him the way he's here for me. For once that I could actually support him, my brain just fucking acts up…"

She refrained a sigh. "I know. It sucks. It sucks so much, but it wasn't your fault. You're the one suffering here, Tom. Sure June's debut is important, but you can't help it."

"That's why I'm so mad," he breathed, his voice dying in between two hiccups. "I can't control that shit. It's just beyond me—everything that happens. No matter how much I try to fight it, it still… it still fucking plagues me. And he has to be collateral damage."

The words hit her right in her core. The weight of the uncontrollable, of the torments leeching on her, of the damage she caused to those she loved. They had been her dark muses, small voices whispering in her ear that she was unworthy, a ticking bomb and a walking mess, until that belief was so deeply etched into her core it had become a part of her. The fear of being 'too much' and 'not enough' at the same time, of hurting those she loved in her 'moments', when she 'did it again,' of never being any good to those who strived to make her life better.

But it felt different when the words didn't come from her.

It felt wrong.

"Tom, I don't think June sees himself as collateral damage," she said slowly, forgetting her own doubts the space of a night, just long enough to console her friend. "I think no matter what your anxiety is telling you, or your depression, or your bad self-esteem… he's happy to be with you. Even if you can't believe it right now, at least believe me, an external party, when I say you've helped June a lot more than you'd think. It's hard to see the good we bring in a relationship when we're… like this. But it's still here." She inhaled deep. Those words, she needed them as much as he did. "June loves you. And you're worth his love. No matter what your brain says to you, you're worth it. Even if it's hard to believe, and trust me, I know it is, it doesn't change that."

He didn't reply for a moment, just sniffled. "I wish I could be different. I wish I didn't have all these issues. Hell, I wish I were a better friend, and a better boyfriend, and a better son and brother and person."

"You're already an amazing person, Tom. You really think I'd be best friends with an asshole?"

He chuckled a little. "You love me too much, Hana. I don't even know why you do."

"I love you because you make my life better and you're an admirable person. Tom, you're my best friend. You read me like you read one of those million books in your bookshelf. There are so many gorgeous things about you."

"Like what, my depression?"

"Like your deep understanding of the world. Or your strong empathy with people's feelings. Or your passion about literature. Your love for writing. Your determination at learning to cook. Your knowledge about so many random things, and all these cute facts you give in conversations. And all that creativity in you? You've got whole worlds in your pretty head. Sometimes I swear I can see magic in your eyes."

He chuckled again, a bit shyly. "You give me way too much credit," he said in a soft voice.

"I don't think so. You're genuinely one of the best people I've ever met. And one of the most beautiful humans. And also probably the nerdiest asshole ever."

He laughed, this time without any reserve. "You need glasses."

" _You_ do. I have perfect vision. I see you as the amazing person you are, of course I have perfect vision."

He breathed out through his nose. "I don't feel so amazing."

"When you're asleep, you don't feel your body working—and yet it is. You don't stop being amazing because you don't feel that way. Yeah, it sucks, but it's a fact." She pictured him curled up in his bed, staring at nothing, his mind a mess of whirling thoughts. "I think it's okay to feel bad, Tom. It sucks but it's necessary to process the bad emotions because they help you purge yourself. That panic attack exhausted you."

"It's more like, I feel that all the work I've been doing to calm myself is for nothing. I've been trying to see more people, go out more, get used to it slowly. When I was so relaxed around Killua I was… I don't know, relieved? I got the usual self-consciousness I always get around new people, but I was relaxed. I managed to make a few phone calls without agonizing too much, and I've been calmer at the prospect of going out alone without June. So I felt like I was getting better." A pause, again. "But at the concert I… relapsed."

"Remember who told me relapse was part of healing too?" she started softly, rewinding Thomas's own words with fondness. "It's helped me through so much, to remember that. That having throwbacks to bad moments was normal when you process your issues. And the same applies to you, Tom."

"Tricked by own words," he joked sadly.

She smiled. "Not tricked. Just wise. It's easier to give advice to other people than us," she said, as much to him than to herself.

She wondered if he had caught what she had accidentally implied. But if he did, he—thankfully—didn't make note of it. "It is. I know if I were giving advice to myself, I'd say that it's okay and it happens. But when I think back of how pathetic I was—and of how shitty I felt, surrounded by all these people and that noise and flashing lights… It felt like all that work I had done had collapsed and I was back to being the boy who threw up the night before presentations."

"You're not that boy anymore. You've grown, immensely. But I think it's just… like, it's super important you allow yourself to not _always_ be better. Sometimes you're allowed to fuck up, or relapse, or feel bad. Healing isn't linear. And this expectation we put on ourselves to always evolve can be unhealthy because… sometimes we just don't have the heart or the strength or the circumstance, and we need a break. There will always be times when pushing yourself will be counterproductive—and those are the times when you should just _be_ , process your emotions, reflect, rest."

He made a non-committal sound—and she knew then she had made her point across because he only sounded detached when he was back to being himself. "Thank you," he mumbled, a bit embarrassed.

"Don't thank me, dork. I'm here for you."

He cleared his throat. "Tell me about you," he requested, switching on the bed. His voice had calmed down to its usual quiet, breathy tone. She had expected his sudden change of subject—he always did that when he was uncomfortable with a topic. Which was good news; it meant he had told her everything. "I kept ranting but I never asked how you were."

"Eh, I'm… okay I guess," she replied, tucking the ropes of anxiety away. "I make do."

… Which didn't work, obviously. Thomas stayed silent for an instant. When he spoke, his tone was serious, yet always kind. "What happened, Hana? Is it with Killua?"

She flinched, exposed yet again by her best friend. She was convinced he had a sixth sense. Some kind of superior power that made him guess from the slighte inflection of her voice that she wasn't in top condition.

Or perhaps he just loved her a lot.

"I'm…" She sighed. "I don't know if now's a good time to talk about it."

"If you're having second thoughts because of me, don't. I feel better now. And if you feel bad just tell yourself it'll help me take my mind off the issue, so… just talk to me, Hana."

She smiled a little. "I'm having my moments."

"What do you mean? You're anxious?"

God, he could read her so well. "Yeah, the whole… pre-relationship anxiety. Like… Okay, how up-to-date are you with me and Killua?"

"Um, last time you just told us you two were getting, um, physically closer?"

"Okay." She exhaled. "We slept together."

Thomas fell silent on the line for a few seconds—she could picture him working out when exactly they had had time to do that. "Did you just. Wait a month on purpose to make June lose his bet and _then_ you slept with your guy?"

She burst out laughing. "No! That was _so_ not planned, I swear!"

He chuckled. "I know. I was joking, you dork. And, um, congrats?"

"On what?"

"On getting that dick? I don't know."

"Oh. My. _God_ ," she exclaimed, acting all outraged even though she was grinning hard. "Thomas Oakfire you did _not_ just say that. I'm calling your mother."

He scoffed. "Hana, you know very damn well my mom would say the same thing. There's a reason she gets along so well with you, and that's because you're both the same kind of crude, shameless dorks."

"I know, I love your mom. I miss Emmy."

"She misses you too, trust me. Every time she calls me she asks how you are. You'd think she's your mom instead and not mine."

She laughed wholeheartedly. "I should visit her sometime."

"She'd love that, for sure." He cleared his throat. "Which doesn't explain to me what's wrong. So you slept with Killua, next?"

"Um… nothing much, it's just me. I mean, he's adorable. It's just me freaking out for nothing."

If there was one thing Hana had learned about her best friend, it was that his silences were just as eloquent as his words. Each silence had its own feel to it. Sometimes it was a 'trying to see if you're tricking me into believing you're okay' kind of quiet. Other times, a 'translating your casual brushing-it-off demeanor into a hidden call for help' kind of quiet. And, of course, the typical 'you did not just insult yourself in front of me, did you?' kind of quiet. Which was exactly the one he was giving her at this moment.

"Hana, I know you. You never freak out for no reason. What's wrong?"

She fumbled with a lock of hair, twirling it around her finger. "I just… I feel like there's something wrong with him, but like… he won't tell me. I mean, the closer we get, the more… scared he gets. Every time I sound annoyed he just freezes, or flinches, and it's so very discreet but I can feel it. I hate that I make him feel that way."

"Sounds like he's been abused before," he suggested. "June was like that too, at first. It's a defense mechanism."

Her heart ached at the thought. "I know, but it never showed before. I want to make him feel safe but I feel like he won't trust me with what's troubling him."

"Let him know you're here for him?"

"I tried that. He always tells me he knows, that he's fine. I know it's a lie. And it hurts even more. I tried to be patient but it's eating me inside that I make him feel that way. And I just… I feel like I did something that caused him to relive something painful. And perhaps he'd be better off without me? Like, what if this is all my fault and he can never feel totally open and fine with me, or I did something that hurt him so bad he's going through hell silently and—"

"Hey, hey, Hana, calm down," Thomas interrupted, a cool breeze on her burning heart. "You did nothing wrong, that much I'm sure of. I'm not in Killua's head, I can't say for sure what's wrong with him, but it's not your fault."

Her lower lip trembled. "I don't know, Tom. He avoids talking about our relationship. Not that we have a relationship to talk about," she said, surprised by her own bitterness. Guilt filled her at the thought. "And I'm here being selfish thinking of how he won't call me his girlfriend."

"And so? Maybe he has things bothering him, but why would that mean you have to cancel out the stuff that bothers _you_?" She couldn't reply to that. "I know why you're anxious. The last time you wanted someone that much was Kai, and he let you down. You're scared it will happen again."

"Killua isn't like Kai," she argued in a small voice.

"And you're not like whoever potentially abused him either. It's not something you can control, or him. Maybe he's not like Kai because he's not a fickle bitch, but that doesn't mean you won't get flashbacks. Especially if whatever's troubling him is making him avoid the whole relationship talk."

She smiled at how he had mentioned Kai. "Killua is a lot more solid than Kai."

"Yeah, he is. But he's also human and so are you. You both need to talk about this."

She winced. "I thought of that earlier… I desperately need to tell him how I feel. But at the same time—what if it makes him feel terrible?"

He sighed. "Hana, talking is never a pleasant thing. Like, it's hard as fuck. But it's necessary. You remember when June and I got together for the first time? Like, we had so many issues. His abusive, homophobic liar father, my mental illnesses and giant insecurities, you name it. And it didn't help that we're super different—the whole introvert versus extrovert thing? Not easy when we had no idea how to deal with that. You remember, right?"

"I do."

"Well, there's one thing we did from the very beginning that relieved us from _so many more_ issues and made us stay super close. You know what?"

"What?"

"Communication. Trust me, it's… essential. The base. I'm sure that's half the reason we worked well together. As soon as we admitted to having feelings for each other, we sort of set up this safe space to communicate, and it saved us. And of course, it's never easy. It's baring, and vulnerable, and intimate. We're both private about our feelings too, so I let you imagine how hard it was. But we worked to have this balance, thanks to communication. It helps so much to know that when you have something on your mind, you can tell your significant other and they will listen to you. It seriously relieved a lot of my anxiety and made both of us feel supported."

She listened, almost mesmerized by the prospect of a long, healthy relationship like that of Thomas and June. One where she could just open up about her issues and have her lover open up to her. It was right here—in the hollow of her chest, the lining of her ribcage, the beating of her heart—the hope that she and Killua could turn out like this. A little spark in the midst of all that torment. "What if Killua and I aren't made to be like this?" she still tried, terrified of this hope—and of the thought it could be crushed any moment.

"Hana, you can't know if you don't try. I don't know how the guy is but… he looks like he really cares about you. Better to set up this safe space for you two to talk now than fall for each other and realize it can't happen. Trust this feeling—that he's solid, and he makes you feel safe. That doesn't come from nothing. People have auras too—his aura was calm and steady. He looks reliable."

She thought again of Killua's calm presence—the steady stream of a river, quiet and reassuring. "He is. He's so reliable. Tom, I'd trust him with my life."

She didn't hear him, but she could imagine him smiling. "Then trust that feeling you get around him, and talk to him. You're not dating yet, but if you open up to him and communicate how you're feeling, he'll feel like he can trust you about how he feels in return. Chances are he wants to talk to you too but doesn't know how. Remember how long it took for June and I to get together?"

"God yes," she said, remembering the frustration at seeing such a perfect couple determined to not… be a couple. (Which was hilarious, considering what Elias had said about her and Killua.) "You literally behaved like an old married couple."

"We did," Thomas concurred in a weary voice. "But he didn't want to date, and I first thought it was my fault, but the truth was he was afraid to drag me in his family issues and ruin me. Perhaps Killua is dead scared of ruining your friendship, or drag you into his personal issues, so he doesn't want to take the first step. Perhaps he doesn't want to burden you with his issues. Or perhaps he's terrified of you _seeing_ his issues. Remind me who's so persuaded all those that love her will run away when they see her problems?"

"… I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yeah, act innocent, dork. Whatever. You can't know if you don't ask him, and same goes for him; he can't know this is bothering you if you don't tell him. So tell him. Talk to him. Even if it makes you feel naked or shitty, you'll feel better after being honest with him. If you want a healthy relationship with him, you need to communicate how you feel, what you like or don't like, what bothers you and so on, so that he knows what to do or not. And he needs that too. Chances are he'll feel a lot more relieved if he can count on you to tell him when you feel like shit. And he'll tell you too, eventually, about his feelings. It goes both ways, the communication thing. And I'm no relationship expert but it's like… the fundamental of any relationship."

She stared at the pillow next to her, where Killua usually slept, lost in a memory of a pale morning. His sleeping form so willingly vulnerable around her, embraced by the soft morning glow as the first rays of the sun caressed his bare shoulder. The way she would trace the acute line of his jaw, her gaze brushing his dark eyelashes, his sharp cheekbones, his pouting lips. The way he would instinctively wrap his arms around her when she scooted closer to nuzzle in his neck.

This was what she wanted. More mornings like those with him. More sleepy fights over taking the blankets. More teasing over who snored the loudest or kicked the other out of bed. More sweet breakfasts, and bickering over pasta brands, and makeshift pajama parties at either of their place, and jokes about how she nearly headed into the transparent bedroom glass walls of his apartment, and basketball fights on the court, and just… more of him.

She wanted more of him.

"I'll do that," she quietly said, and the words looped in her head. _I want more of him_. "I'll do it. I'll talk to Killua."

* * *

 **3:45 A.M.**

'I can't sleep. Can I see you? I miss you…'

She had sent this message to Killua fifteen minutes ago, after an agonizing, long hesitation. Never mind that it was almost four in the morning, she wouldn't be able to sleep without holding him against her. Not after nearly doubling over the torments simmering in her brain.

She told herself she had time to talk about what troubled her—the painful realization that maybe she was bad for him, the worry over the state of their relationship. All of that could wait. But that deep need of him, that hollow sensation where he usually held her— _that_ couldn't wait. She was craving him. She was craving him so much his absence had a feel to it—she could touch it, the void on the bed next to her, the lack of warmth on her skin, the unsettling silence.

She had never been so desperate to see him.

Her phone buzzed at this instant. She held her breath; it took her a moment to properly decipher the words.

'Come over babe, I'm home'

Her heart leaped with relief. Barely a minute later, she was out of her apartment, clad in one of his long-sleeved black shirts—and shorts that were just for the way, because there was no way she was keeping pants in front of him now. Her body thrummed with impatience—and, though it was timid, there was the faint taste of giddiness vibrating in her when she recalled the small term of endearment he had employed. How amazing was it, that such a small thing could lift her up so high?

She reached his apartment in no time, waiting a moment in front of the door to catch her breath and run a hand through her hair. He had left his door open, for her. So she pushed it open, locked it behind her, and immediately she felt at ease. Breathing in his presence in the apartment. Everywhere she looked—his shoes in the entrance, his keys on the occasional table, his light jacket thrown over a chair—he was here.

She strode through the living room, turning in the corridor linked to his bedroom.

And she saw him. Through the glass walls of his bedroom, his back to her. He had removed his t-shirt and was quietly folding it. As she slowly pushed the door, he turned toward her.

Her heart missed a beat. Here she was, on the threshold of his door, at four in the morning, wanting to throw herself into his arms and kiss him dumb and not doing any of that after hours of anxiety and missing him and wanting to do just that. She was stuck there. Her feet rooted in the ground, unsure of what to do with all the things she felt upon seeing him. Joy, relief, worry.

And desire.

"Hey," he said quietly, putting his shirt away. The dim lights coated him in a warm, smooth halo, soft colors bouncing off his skin and highlighting the precise cut of his muscles.

Her voice caught in her throat. Here he was, so close to her, but she wouldn't move. "Hey," she breathed, biting her lip at the sound of her voice. Her eyes couldn't leave him. The leanness of his body, the gentleness in his movements, the solidity in his stance.

And his gaze. Burning through her clothes.

She swallowed. Unspoken urgency boiled in her body.

She had to say something. The words sat in her chest, waiting for her to say them. "I missed you," she said instead.

He smiled, the corner of his lips tipping up ever so slightly. Such a delightful sight. "Come here," he breathed, slowly extending his arm.

Strings of words died in her chest, withering one by one with each step she took toward him. Buried by this same hand that took her own, pulling her tenderly toward him.

Until they died the space of a breath, when his lips were on hers and she forgot everything.

Everything but him.

His hands moved to the small of her back, gliding down her waist in an obsessing, slow, _delicious_ motion. She sighed against his lips as he pressed her closer to him, tightened her grip on his shoulders to keep herself grounded. Because she was aloft—with his lips moving against hers, his tongue stroking hers, his fingers caressing her back with, always, that soft pressure that drove her wild. Her heart hummed in her whole body—so loud, so fast, it rang in her ears and her head and deafened her thoughts until they were too far, too quiet, too small.

They broke the kiss to catch their breath, forehead against forehead. She cupped his face then, her thumb brushing his lower lip, eyes lost in that mouth—she wanted it all over her. Those soft lips, that pout, kissing her, tasting her body.

He didn't let go of her, kept her close instead. Her body lit up wherever he touched her—yet it was never enough. She had been starved for hours—of his touch, his warmth, his voice. With one hand, he cupped her cheek—the other arm circled around her like a safety belt. "You missed me that much?" he murmured against her lips, teasing her with the proximity of his mouth.

She barely heard him. Bent toward him, her body arching into his for more. She found his lips for a briefer kiss—it stood as a promise. "I kept thinking about you," she admitted. In a dark corner of her brain, a small voice reminded her of what she had wanted to tell him. But he obscured it—brushed her cheek with infinite tenderness.

"I thought about you too."

She couldn't help a small, drunk smile. And when he returned it, her heart started its usual wild, unrestrained dance.

So she stole his smile with a kiss, locking her lips on his. Which made her grin wider. Which, in return, made him cheekier. His hands played with the hem of her shirt, fingertips slipping under and stroking the sensitive skin of her waist.

Only then did they break the kiss. Without a word, he sat on the bed, a wolfish grin wide on his face, and he patted his lap.

A pleased chuckle escaped her. She grabbed the headset of the bed to balance herself and promptly straddled him, letting her hips purposefully drop on his lap. And then she moved closer—with that slow, languid stroke of her backside on him. The little 'oof' he let out and that surreptitious way he tightened his grip on her hips were worth all the trouble she brought to herself by doing that—which were many, because she was getting way too impatient.

She settled her hands on his shoulders. "So, how was your night chasing corpses?"

"You'll see on the news tomorrow. We did ask for it."

She bent over, diving in his neck. She heard him sigh as she planted feather-light kisses in that sweet spot behind his ear, trailing down his neck ever so gently. Her lips caught on the heat of his skin, lingering on his pulsating vein while her hand pressed on his heart—right where it was going wild. Everything she did, she did it with patience, care, and insufferable dawdling. No matter how much she wanted him, how her insides twisted in delight at the feel of his tout body against hers—she didn't give in. She took her time, nibbling on his neck, right next to the previous hickey. Her teeth scraped his skin while he sought for more of her to touch, one hand slipping up her back and the other teasing her, diving in her panties and pinching her backside. She heard herself moan—her eyebrows dipped in a frown. He was winded, eyes closed to enjoy the sensation, but his eyelids fluttered open when she stopped her tempestuous kiss.

They said nothing for an instant, simply staring at each other. Their feverish passion coloring their cheeks, the blur of desire veiling their eyes. It was a simple moment—one of recognition. Of their mutual want, their attraction, the things they wanted to do to each other. Because behind those quiet faces lay a thousand fantasies. Writing naked bodies and names whispered in eager ears and hips thrust forward and thighs pressed together and greedy kisses all the way through the climax.

All of that, quietly tucked behind those silent faces.

Then the moment burst. She crashed her lips on his, stunning him out of silence. It didn't matter where she touched—his chest, his abs, his hips, the rough little black tattoos on his skin—she never had enough. Never. She kept wanting more—pressed her thighs tighter around his hips—whispered in his ear to undress her. And he complied with uncoordinated movements, fumbling with the buttons of her shirt—or his shirt, technically—all the while arching his neck back and moaning soundly while she covered his throat with kisses. She finished on his jaw, right when he finally got rid of her shirt.

Their mouths met again, though with no pause this time. He simply rediscovered her body again—up her waist, brushing her scar, palms on her breasts pressing softly. He knew how to make her body jolt and start and arch to his demand. He knew how she liked it with he circled her nipples so painfully languidly with the very tip of his thumb. He knew what to give her to make her ask for more, to make her plead in his ear for more—for him inside of her.

All of that changed in an instant. The burning desire, the aching need of him. It all switched when he ran his hand down her arm in a pure act of tenderness.

And found something else.

He abruptly broke the kiss, leaving her hanging for more, and took her arm in both of his hands. "Hana, what happened to your arm?" he asked through his ragged breathing.

It took her a moment to understand what he was talking. The heat dissolved little by little until all that was left of the sensual interlude froze in her core.

And the doubts, all of them, rose from the dead.

"What happened?" he repeated, and though his voice was kind, she felt the worry in it.

It made her feel like shit. All crumpled inside. The butterflies died, the fireworks stilled. All that was left were ashes. "I just—I tried to…" She gulped, her throat feeling too tight.

"You tried to?"

She could meet his eyes. Instead, she summoned Sae, hoping it would explain for itself. "I tried to use the Eraser mode."

He replied nothing. It took her one glimpse toward his face to see where his attention was—on her arm. Inspecting the swirls and intricate patterns of the burns. They didn't hurt; her skin felt a little numb, but there was no pain.

"I don't get it. How did…" He didn't finish his sentence.

Without further explanations, she activated the Eraser mode; he would only believe it if he saw it with his own two eyes.

Blue lines then lit up on her arms, the blazing light filling the patterns of the burns. Little by little, from her bicep to her fingertips, her skin glowed with the powerful nen lines.

Killua watched, almost mesmerized if not for the lingering worry in his gaze. "They burned you?"

"This is just the set up. When I focus my aura in my arm, it should… technically… activate the Eraser. But…"

He finished her sentence: "But it backfired. You told me this—it… burned your arm. Before."

She nodded, then dismissed Sae. The blue lines faded, leaving the past burn scars exposed on her skin. She exhaled through her nose, still hesitating to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry for not telling you."

"Not telling me what?"

"That I would… do something so dangerous."

He shook his head. "You don't need my approval to do anything. Just—" He examined her arm again, holding it in his hands as though it would shatter at the slightest brush. "It's not safe."

"I know, but I… I want to pick up on this ability. Imagine having a treasure buried in you but you can't use it because you lack training in it; that's exactly what the Eraser is for me."

"I get that," he assured, finally letting go of her rm. "I'm not saying you shouldn't train. But you don't have to do it alone."

She let herself, at last, meet his eyes. "You mean—you'd train with me?"

"If there's anything I can do to help, I'd do it. You're not wrong when you say it's a treasure." He looked her in the eye. "You're a nen exorcist. That's the coolest shit ever. You could be invincible against Smokey."

Her gaze escaped his. "I could perhaps have saved Feri if I had mastered the Eraser by then. Even if I had only a slight chance, a tenth of thousandth…"

He cupped her face. "It's in the past. It's not your fault Feri died. It's the Whisper's. Think instead of the future—of how you could protect yourself."

 _And how I could protect you_. "I'm aware. But I'm lost," she admitted. "I don't know what I'm doing wrong. I never tried to reuse the Eraser since the last time I failed and—I can't break this cycle of failure. It keeps backfiring. Everything goes well and then suddenly it fucking starts burning."

"I'm no nen master, and eventually we might need to see one for that—" He trailed off for an instant, "— but until then, we can train together. I have to improve my own abilities. It never hurts to give each other advice."

"That way you can stop me before I fry my own arm?" she joked in a small voice.

"Busted," he said, with a guilty smile. "If that's okay with you."

"I have no self-restraint whatsoever. I…" She sighed. "I don't know what even stopped me. I just kept going no matter how much it hurt. It was scary—wondering where I'd stop."

His jaw twitched. "You've been through a lot lately. The whole party—I know you're still not over David's death."

He was right. The hollow in what used to be David's eyes before they melted off in the fireless nen combustion haunted her. She could have saved him, had she not had a useless exorcism ability. "I want to master the Eraser, Killua. I don't want to watch another person die in front of my eyes when they could be saved, just because I'm scared of getting hurt again."

He narrowed his eyes, though it was faint. "Don't downplay your hurt. If it caused you to shut down your own ability, it was no easy fit. You keep talking as if all your reactions are overreactions—but they're not. At least accept that you've been through some shit, give yourself credit for facing that."

She couldn't help brushing his cheek. "You're like my self-esteem coach."

His eyes lit up. "One day you won't need a coach anymore. But until then, you don't have to carry this burden alone, Hana. I'm here for you, whatever you need."

Her gaze hardened. She looked away, pursing her lips ever so slightly. The worries resurrected from their heated moment were quick to pound at her chest. And suddenly the noose was back around her throat, tightening, tightening. "About that… Killua…" She called, forcing herself to look in his eyes. Her motivation wavered when his relief withered, as though he felt, from her tone, that she was about to bring up something risky. But she kept going. _Talk to him_. "I need to talk to you, about something. It's been bothering me for some time, but I didn't have the guts to bring it up until… now."

Confusion and dread passed over his face for a split second, but she saw it. That same infinitesimal slip in his composure, that token of all the things he hadn't told her, all the bad memories he had repressed. It felt like a slap. "Yeah? Do tell," he said. "You can tell me anything."

She took a deep breath, already regretting the words that would come out of her mouth. "I'm gonna sound cliché and high-maintenance but… I really want to, um, talk about us?" she tried, and winced. "I mean… we're not dating, but we're more than friends with benefits, and, I don't know, it's a bit confusing to me. It's all so uncertain and—" _And it could end as fast as it started._ She stopped talking midsentence.

"And?" he repeated, frowning in confusion.

"And I'm… not comfortable, with the way we are right now. I mean… it's kinda undefined, and perhaps it's stupid to hold on to a title or a label or I don't know, I'm not making sense—I'm rambling again. But I just…"

"Want to make it official?" he finished for her, and though he looked calm, there was a shadow in his eyes that she didn't like. Something she had never really seen on him, that she couldn't pinpoint.

"Yes," she breathed. "If you want to. It sounds ridiculous but… I just don't know. It's not that I expected you to do it, _I'd_ ask you out if I felt that you wanted me to, but…" She paused; his face fell, but just enough for her to know he was making tremendous efforts to not freak out. And that was how she understood: the shadow in his eyes was anxiety. "Killua, are you okay?"

"Yeah, but keep going," he said. His voice was a little weaker than usual. As though he was lost.

She swallowed. Guilt pounded in her chest. "Look, I don't want to make you feel anxious. I swear I just—it's cool."

"And I swear I'm good," he reassured, taking her hand. "Please, keep going."

She inhaled deep. "I feel like you're not ready for a relationship. That's why I didn't ask you out. And I just… wanted to know if I had done anything wrong, anything that I could change to make you feel safe."

He widened his eyes. "What? No! You didn't do anything wrong—that didn't go where I expected it to go," he mumbled, passing a hand through his hair. "No—no, you have nothing to correct. I promise. You do make me feel safe, and loved."

"But then, what's wrong? I can tell, Killua. I can see you're hesitant, and all I want is to help you. Unless—unless you don't want a relationship with me, which is okay, but I need you to tell me. I'll never stop you from leaving," she tore the words from her mouth. Her voice was wobbling, and she felt tears prickle her eyes at the words. The thought that she was the problem, she was the one blocking him—that he'd be better with someone else—obsessed her. No matter all the proof of the contrary, a part of her still believed he deserved better. So much better. Yet it ripped her apart to admit it, even as she offered this exit to him. Because she loved him. She didn't want to lose him. "I want to know if we're on the same wavelength and—that's why I needed to talk to you."

He didn't bother hiding his pain anymore. He sighed and reached for her, wiping a tear on her cheek. "All this time, you thought it was your fault?"

She fell silent. Saying no would be a lie, but saying yes… "I'm—I'm okay. I just want to know."

"I don't want to leave you," he breathed, cupping her face. "I—look, I really care about you. Deeply so. And I do want a relationship with you, I promise. So please, don't blame yourself. You've done nothing wrong, God forbid."

His words soothed her. She weakly nodded, hoping it wasn't her tears that made him pity her. She had tried to hold them back as much as she could, but they had pushed through and before she knew it, they were pouring on her cheeks. And her chest was so heavy, with the shame and the guilt of something she wasn't sure of. What if it made him feel worse, to see her cry? What if he blamed himself for that?

She took a deep breath, swallowing the sorrow before she started sobbing. He gently rubbed her shoulders. "Sorry," she lamely said. "I'm not crying."

He smiled a little. "Crying? Who's crying? I don't see anything."

She chuckled. "No one's crying. Not me. That's lame and I'm not lame," she said as she wiped one last tear.

"You're not. You're amazing. And brave," he added. "It's not easy to talk about your feelings—I know best. But thank you, for talking to me, and sharing your worries with me."

She shrugged. "I don't want to make you feel bad though. I'm so sorry. I swear I didn't mean to…"

"Shh, you didn't do anything bad. For real, I'm glad you opened up to me. I don't want you to feel like… like you can't talk to me. No matter what you feel, even if you feel like I'm the worst asshole in the world and deserve to choke on a mouthful of wasps, tell me." She smiled at his joke, and his features relaxed, his hands gliding down her arms until they rested on top of her own hands. He breathed in, tightened his grip on her hand, and focused. "I'm the problem, Hana."

She waited a moment, but as he didn't say more, she spoke. "What do you mean?"

He seemed lost in thought. "I do want a relationship with you. I promise. I know it's not all butterflies and it's not always gonna be easy, but… I want to try, with you. I feel something real for you. I feel connected and… it's just really easy to be with you. So please, don't think you're the problem. I'm not gonna leave you, unless you want me to. I know I'm confusing, and I avoided talking about… us, until now, but I swear on everything I have, I'm serious about this." He inhaled deep. "But I'm not ready yet. I—I just need some time. A little time."

She studied his face. He looked so lost and pained—and beneath it all, that same anxiety that was so uncharacteristic of him. "I can wait. I'm patient. Really, there's no pressure, and you can take all the time you need, Killua." She squeezed his hand. "But why are you not ready?" She searched his eyes for answers, but there weren't any. She had a bad feeling about what this meant, like the reason was rooted in his insecurities. When he stayed silent, she gently nudged him. "Killua, I talked about my feelings, and no matter how ugly they were, you accepted them. You told me you wanted me to feel safe talking to you. And I want the same thing. I'm not going to judge you, or reject you, or blame you. You can tell me anything, and I mean it."

He closed his eyes, his chest heaving. When he reopened them, he avoided her gaze. "I'm scared."

Without thinking, she brushed his bangs away from his eyes, rested her palm on his cheek. All that distress written on his face, laced in his words… it was overwhelming. All she wanted was to relieve him from it, that burden even he couldn't hide. "Tell me what you're scared of," she murmured.

"I feel like I'm going to fuck it up. Right now—I don't trust myself to make you happy. I don't feel good enough for that. Somehow, it feels like I'm just going to fail again and ruin you." He paused. "It's a lot to handle, a relationship, and I do want to handle that with you, but not before I'm sure I can. My last relationship was a disaster, and it was all my fault. I lost a friend I cared about because I was unable to make things right with her. Nothing would hurt me as much as losing you and disappointing you."

"You won't disappoint me. You don't have to be perfect to be in a relationship." She looked him in the eye. "No relationship is perfect, whether it's platonic or romantic. You don't have to prove yourself to me, or to anyone. Don't make the same mistake as I did and believe that just because it didn't work in the past, then it's not gonna work now."

"I know," he said. And he did know, she realized. But the distress was still carved in his features, in the deep frown on his face, and a nasty foreboding told her the issue was a lot deeper than a slight inadequacy.

"Killua," she softly called, plunging her gaze in his, caressing his hand. She used his own soothing spell on him, easing the way. "Talk to me."

His breath caught. He clasped her hand as though he were holding to a buoy. For a moment, he looked like he was hesitating, wondering if he should talk, warring with himself.

But eventually, he exhaled, releasing the tension.

And he dropped the bomb.

"I've been in an abusive relationship before."

His confession hit her in the chest, then rippled through all of her. Here it was. The truth. The reason behind those glimpses of fear, that well-masked worry creeping in his gaze, those flinches whenever she sounded offended or asked to talk about something. And she realized, all those times she felt he was bracing himself, he truly was. Because there was a time when he did receive a blow. "Keep going," she simply said, tucking her shock inside of her so to not stress him out.

He rested his hands on her hips and exhaled. "You remember, when you asked me about my love life?" As she nodded, he continued. "I wasn't entirely honest with you then. I dated someone, a few months after breaking up with Weran. And it was a disaster. I didn't want to talk about it that night at your balcony. I've never mentioned it to anyone but Gon and Leorio, not even Xoelle."

"Xoelle… your last girlfriend," she guessed.

"Yeah."

"Is that why it didn't go well with Xoelle?" she risked.

He nodded. "It is. That… that abusive relationship… it drained me. It's like it sucked all my strength and energy until I was left with nothing but bitterness. And I didn't want to be hurt again, when I dated Xoelle, so I remained distant. I was unable to give her what she wanted. I was too tired, too wary. I ended up hurting her and made her feel inadequate because of my distance, of my inability to trust her, to make efforts and… open up."

He fell silent, escaping her gaze. She caressed his cheek with the back of her fingers, the feather-light touch visibly soothing him. "It's okay," she whispered. "I'm here."

He kept going. "And I lost her. I can't blame her; I'd have done the same thing. But ever since I can't… I can't forgive myself for how poorly I handled things with her. It's been six months since I broke up with Xoelle, but I still feel guilty. And I can't stop thinking that it's always going to be this way. I'll keep ruining my relationships the same way I ruined it with Xoelle, because deep down I can't be fixed."

"You don't need fixing," she chimed in. "You're not broken. I don't know what happened before Xoelle, but whatever that abuser did to you… you're not defined by it."

"I try to believe that," he argued. "But it's been haunting me since then. That things would always be this way. That I couldn't move on. That I'd keep hurting the people I love." He looked down. "I like to think that I'm a hopeful person, that I recover fast. But this one scar—it won't heal. Not completely. Every once in a while, it reopens."

"You _are_ healing," she assured. "Relapsing is okay. It happens. But it doesn't mean you're not healing. It just means you need time, and help, and love, and patience."

"But I've been through worse," he said. "It's so disorienting. I've been through _torture_. I've always healed. I've always grown up stronger, but—not this time. My family made me go through hell and back and I still managed to move on. So why not this time?"

She took in his eyes, filled with frustration. Frustration against himself, his insecurities, all the questions without answers. "Because that person mattered to you," she guessed. "Because you trusted them. The abuse your family made you go through—you expected it. But I'm guessing what that person did to you… you didn't see it coming. And a punch hurts twice as much when you don't see it coming."

He focused on her words. "Yeah. Deep down, my friends are my real family." He smiled bitterly. "It took me so long to learn to trust people. Perhaps I just—overestimated myself. Trusted too easily. I don't know."

"It wasn't your fault," she breathed. "You're not responsible for what that abuser did to you."

"But I'm responsible for how I fucked up with Xoelle." He rose his eyes, staring at her. "And I'm terrified of doing it again. I'm terrified of dragging you down with me."

Her heart was pounding in her ears. She had a thousand things to say, from 'you can never drag me down' to 'you make me feel like I'm worth it' to 'I'm not Xoelle and you're not your failures', but nothing felt adequate. She was speechless at this deep abyss he had so skillfully concealed. She used to think he had insecurities, like everyone, that he had cracks he didn't feel like sharing. But he was more damaged than she had first thought, and his abysses echoed right into her own.

So she said the only thing she could think of. "You? Dragging me down? You're the sugar in my life, Killua," she murmured. And he smiled, genuinely. "Does that ring a bell?"

"Busted," he said in a low voice. "I keep talking as if I know everything, but deep down I'm… just the same."

"You're human, Killua. You're always giving so much of yourself, being strong for me and for everyone, but you're allowed to hurt. You're allowed to lean on your friends." She looked him in the eye. "You're allowed to lean on _me_. You don't have to always be strong."

"My issues are heavy," he quietly said.

"So are mine, and yet you accepted them with open arms." She exhaled softly. "You know, an _amazing_ person once told me that no one is intact. Everyone has some darkness in themselves, some cracks, some abysses. And you know what he asked me, when I said my abysses were deep?" she said, and he rose doubtful eyes towards her, waiting. "He asked me, 'are you going to keep punishing yourself for being human?' And it resonated so deep with me."

He cracked a sad smile. "You sure that guy's that amazing?"

"And even more," she pursued. "He's one of the most amazing people I've ever met. He brings so much light in my life, so much hope, and so much fun. He's—he's radiant. He's my one rebel, my friend… hell, my _soulmate_. And—I love him. I love him so much sometimes I can't contain it, and I feel I'm going to burst with all the beautiful things he makes me feel." She stopped, her heart racing in the flood of confessions. Her face felt hot, her mouth was full with so much more to say, her body quivered with all the words that roamed in herself. "I love you, Killua. I—I love you like I've never loved anyone. And that sounds so cheesy but it's true, and I swear it's not something I picked from a Disney—but I love you. I—" She exhaled, begging her heart to calm down. "I love you."

He didn't say a word, just stared at her with wide eyes shimmering with emotion. And he pulled her closer, burying his face in her neck. Pressing her against him and exhaling deeply.

"Killua—"

"Just hold me," he pleaded. "Hold me close."

And so she did. She held him, stroked his hair, stayed quiet. His heart was drumming against hers. He didn't loosen his grip, and she heard him exhale, laying one long kiss on her shoulder, and exhaling again. As though it was all too much to carry, too much to feel.

They stayed that way a long moment. Silent, tucked in their warm embrace. Together, simply.

When he broke the embrace, he looked completely lost, as though he didn't know what to say. So she helped him. "Thank you," she said. "For talking to me about something so personal. I'm happy, that you trusted me."

He laughed softly. "After what you just did, you're still thanking _me_?" he murmured, caressing her hair. "You're incredible. How can you not see how good you are to me?"

"The same way you can't see how precious you are." She wrapped her arms around his neck. "I'll wait. As long as you need. We're in no rush." She smiled. "We're in for a long ride anyway."

He visibly relaxed, his face peaceful again. "We are. I promise, in time, I'll get over myself."

"Don't say that," she softly scolded. "I'm so moved you want to try something that scares you, for me. _With_ me. But there's no rush. I didn't talk about all that to rush you. I swear I just… I just wanted to make sure you wanted it as much as I did. That I wasn't doing it wrong, because I know I'm a lot to handle."

"You see who you're saying that to? We're both the same kind of mess," he attempted a joke. "But is there a reason it made you anxious?"

"What do you mean?"

"Earlier, you were almost… panicking," he recalled. "You thought I would leave you. Did I give off that vibe?"

"No! Not at all," she quickly exclaimed. "On the contrary, you make me feel so safe. It's just… I was having a moment of insecurity. I'm bad at handling these what-are-we phases when it's not official you're in a relationship yet but you're not exactly friends with benefits either. When it matters, anyway. I wasn't always like this."

He wrapped his arms around her waist. "What is it that made you like this?" he asked, though the bitterness in his voice said enough about how much he knew.

Because of course he had guessed. "Kai." Her lips stretched in a bitter smile. "Kai took an eternity to make it official with me. I didn't know what he wanted and it drove me crazy. One minute he acted like he wanted me, the next he avoided me like I had the plague. And since we weren't officially together, I felt like I had no right to believe we were a thing. It was so confusing, to feel desired and rejected at the same time, and I hated the helplessness I felt. I think, in a way, I still hold on to that label because of that. As a token. It's stupid because it really doesn't mean a thing."

"To you it does. That's all that matters." His gaze softened. "And it matters to me too. You have no idea how much I want to call Gon and tell him you're my girlfriend." He looked away. "I'm the only one stopping myself from that."

But she grinned, and tipped his face up so he looked at her. "It's okay. Your future-girlfriend can wait."

He planted a kiss near on her jaw. "Thank you," he whispered. "I'm one lucky future-boyfriend."

She chortled. "I know it's important to you, and so it's important to me too. I'm here to support you, through thick and thin. Did I mention I loved you?"

He hid in her neck again, mumbling something unintelligible, and she giggled. He didn't say anything for a few seconds, just hugging her, immobile. "Can you say it again?" he then said.

"I love you."

"Hmph." More silence. "… Again?"

"I'm gonna start charging one kiss per 'I love you' at this rate."

She felt him smile slowly against her. Next thing she knew, he was on top of her, covering her face with kisses, and she was laughing so hard her whole body was shaking with mirth. She wrapped her legs around his hips, trapping him, but he started tickling her—and never stopped kissing her. "How many do I get with that?" he asked, grinning wide, when he finally let her breath.

"Let me catch my breath," she requested, with a grin that matched his. Her skin felt hot everywhere he had kissed her—which was, in a lot of places. "I don't know, a lot? At least, like, five."

He arched an eyebrow. "Five?"

"Yeah. At least five."

"Well, that's not wrong."

Her grin grew devious in the best way. "Say," she started, casually clasping her ankles to trap his hips between her thighs. "How about we continue what we had started?"

That same air of surprise passed through his face—it worked as a switch, one to say he was most definitely a little too turned-on. "Sounds like a good idea to me," he murmured against her lips.

What happened next consisted in a fairly fun conclusion to what had been one big anxious day.

Not that any of them would complain.

* * *

 **A/N:** Yayyyyyyyyyyy so much cheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeese! CHEEEEESEEEEEEEEEE! Also, remember kids! COMMUNICATION IS KEY! Be like Hana and Killua! Minus the whole risking your life with super villains and getting yourself drunk to death and putting a mask to make people you're stronger than you are! (ngl, that last thing is something I like doing. Sometimes. Lol.)

Anyway, yeah, that's the big reveal. There's an evil girlfriend who's hurt Killua before. Everyone's got their shitty ex, platonic or romantic. Poor Killua.

On a side note, it's a very real thing—the way abuse makes you reticent to bond with other people. I know for sure making friends was hard to me at some point for the same reason.

Anyway, Lynd got her moment! I hope I'll get to write her more later :D

 **What did you think about this chapter?** Leave:  
\- 1 for 'yay! So good!'  
\- 2 for 'sooooo cheeeeesy wow I made a pizza with this,'  
\- 3 for 'hello would you like to talk about our lord and savior Elias,'  
\- 4 for 'FUCK ABUSIVE ASSHOLES,'  
\- 5 for hugs and kisses  
\- 666 if you're secretly a devil,  
\- 7 for 'I liked it!'

It would make my night. Or send in your own review, that's appreciated too ;)

As always, thank you for your support. I'm very tired and still kinda empty and sad but at least I have this story.

Next chapter is called **Lullaby** and it features a very important political debate centered around this question: **"Say, who would be a better president between Voldemort and Bowser?"** (credits to Hana for the question, you're free to give your two cents).

Until next time, bye!


	35. Lullaby

**A/N:** Hi there guys! I'm finally updating! How have you been?

On my side things are cool. **I'm done writing chapter 35,** which is also why I'm updating. Annnnd my internship is still going on but I'm having a lot of fun with Overwatch so if you wanna join me… ;D

This chapter is a sort of introduction to one big reveal that will occur next chapter. And… it's also showing more of the villains. I hope you'll enjoy it!

As always, thank you for supporting this story. You're the reason I'm still writing. Your reviews give me life, and I love hearing tidbits of info about your lives.

Anyway, enough talking! Go read the chapter and have fun ;)

* * *

 **A little playlist for this chapter:**

 **Daylight in Amestris** – _Fullmetal Alchemist OST  
_ **Anticipation** – _Fullmetal Alchemist OST  
_ **Yoake** – _HxH OST  
_ **The Silver-haired boy** – _HxH OST_  
 **Shoubu wa Moratazze!** – _HxH OST_ (you'll know for which scene lmao)  
 **Forest Interlude 2** – _The Path OST_  
 **Promise** – _Silent Hill OST_

* * *

 **Replies to guest reviews:**

 **Irem** : Hello! Thank you so much for reviewing! I hope everything's going well for you, and good luck with uni! *hugs*

* * *

Chapter 34: **Lullaby**

* * *

 **9:23 A.M.**

There was nothing quite as pleasing as a calm and sunny Sunday morning, seated in his favorite armchair by the window while indulging in his favorite book with his favorite drink on the coffee table by his side.

Nothing, except watching beautiful Olivia try on new dresses.

The sight was ethereal. He was pretending to read his book, but she knew he was watching her. He always did when she tried on the new clothes their personal seamstress and stylists made for her. It was usually one of Olivia's favorite hobbies—her wonderful sense of style and fashion had always been something Erik admired. He was but a simple man with no fashion intelligence whatsoever, and she was an icon who breathed it.

And this new dress? Made her look like an oasis. Bright colors—bright blue and lush green and soft sand—contrasting against the stillness of his life. The dress hugged her at the best places. Her wide hips, her soft stomach, the lovely love handles on her sides. The embroidered collar dove deep in her cleavage, flattering her voluptuous chest.

There was only one slight problem, however.

And it was that she looked completely and utterly dejected.

Her figure was slightly hunched over herself, a sad pout on her lips. Without a word, she repeatedly turned, tried new poses, sucked in her stomach, smoothed her dress on her waist, pressed her hands on her stomach. No pose seemed to satisfy her, and the more she tried, the more disappointed she looked.

He knew what that meant.

"You look lovely," he said, eyes coursing from her head to her toe as he put his book aside and stood up. He caught sight of the perfect curve of her backside, the soft bumps that softened her silhouette. She was so perfect in her small, plump figure.

But she didn't share his enthusiasm. Instead, she pinched her stomach, almost viciously. Then let go and her arms flopped by her side. "I don't know, dear."

"What is it you don't know?"

She looked away, as though the words pained her to say. "I don't feel so lovely now."

"Why not?"

"This dress highlights all my flaws. I should send it back to the seamstress."

He quietly sidled up to her. "What flaws?" He snaked his arms around her form, pulling her to his chest and holding her tightly. "All I see is a beautiful woman. A very—" He planted a kiss in her neck, grinning at the way she giggled. "—Attractive one with that."

"You are such a good flirt, Erik."

"Only with you, honey."

She swiveled, resting her hands on his chest while he stroked her arms with the back of his fingers. "I dare hope so. Who else are you flirting with?" she playfully asked, and the cheeky glint was back in her eyes. He loved that warmth in her gaze, that invitation to play.

He gently pushed her, making her step back until she reached the desk. He flashed a smile that he hoped to be seductive—because the truth was, he always looked a tiny bit too giddy around her and lost all his smoothness. "You know I can't flirt to save my life."

"You did flirt your way to my heart." She sat on the desk, wrapping her arms around his neck as he bent to kiss her. A giggle escaped her lips when his hand sneaked on her thigh, playing with the hem of her dress. "You!" She whisper-shouted through her laugh.

"Me what?" he acted along, brushing her cheek, trailing her soft jaw with gentle kisses.

His hand slipped under her dress. Fingers pressing into her thigh as he slowly trailed it while her hands grabbed his shirt. She gasped softly, and he couldn't help a small laugh in between the kisses on her neck. "You are killing me," she breathed, brushing his temple with her lips.

Desire lashed through him at the sound of her voice. So sweet and so filled with want.

So…

"Sir?"

He flinched back at the knocks on his door, all winded and startled. Olivia's face gradually turned red, from a soft pink to the ripest tomatoes, and she briefly hopped off the desk to hide off in embarrassment.

He stood there a bit dumbly, still catching up with the fact that, no, there wouldn't be any fun time for him and Olivia.

So he slowly turned around.

And glared daggers at the door. "What is it?"

Whoever was on the other side of the door hesitated before speaking next, sensing the animosity in Erik's voice. "An important guest is asking to see you," she explained quietly. "He wants me to announce Mr. Blur."

Erik cocked an eyebrow at the name. Such bad taste. "Tell him to wait, I'm coming," he commanded in a loud voice, waiting for the maid to leave.

When her steps faded, his grave expression fell to his usual melancholy. Caught up once again during his few moments of peace and forcefully dragged back to this painful reality. One where he was the doormat of a dangerous friend. One where he was just a dog, faithful to a cruel owner.

Small, delicate hands cupped his cheeks. He found himself placing his hands on them, opening his eyes to Olivia's worried gaze. "It's your friend, right?" she quietly said, her voice filled with resignation and that eternal sorrow that seized her when Malzi was there.

He nodded wordlessly.

She pulled him in her embrace, resting her chin on his shoulder. And he exhaled soundly, drowning his nose in her hair, holding her close to him. She smelt like vanilla. "Be careful," she whispered, and her words were muffled by his clothes.

"Don't worry, Liv."

She quietly slipped away, her eyes never leaving him as he exited the room. He still felt the warmth of her hands on his cheeks as he adjusted his button-up shirt, eyes lost in front of him.

He trailed the vast corridor leading to his room, so used to the lavish decoration he barely saw it anymore. Olivia's passion for art and flowers reflected in the many paintings lining the walls—and was the only reason he still bought those paintings. The truth was, he wasn't much of painting guy, or a flower guy, or a pretty much anything guy. He could do with a few books. And watching his beautiful Olivia ramble about her day.

He arrived into the grand hall of his mansion, two looping staircases embracing it on each side of the room. As he went down the stairs, the familiar figure of his friend gradually appeared, standing in front of the statue of an angel Olivia had bought from a renowned artist.

Erik feigned to smile at his friend, unwilling to trigger any suspicion from his maid. He almost wouldn't have recognized Malzi with the red hair and the freckled, fair skin. A grand lie—one of his specialties. "Welcome here, Mr. _Blur_ ," he greeted, giving him a knowing look. If he didn't know any better, he'd have been fooled by the masterful disguise. Even the facial features were different.

'Mr. Blur' faked a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Thank you for receiving me, Mr. Faem."

Erik, motioned Malzi to follow him, dismissing the maid who scurried away after a small curtsy. His smile disappeared as soon as she was away, back to his usual grumpiness. "What do you want?" he whispered, directing all his precious frustration at the unwelcome and unexpected guest.

"Aren't you happy to see me? I'm almost hurt."

Erik resisted rolling his eyes.

They climbed the stairs while making small talk, only going silent when Erik let them in his office.

As soon as they were out of sight, safe in Erik's office, Malzi dropped the pretense. Gradually, the glamour faded; his skin tanned, his features thinned, his hair darkened, his eyes cleared to their usual shade of blue. A metallic, translucid blue.

Erik watched, mesmerized as always, by the transformation. "You and your nen tricks," he mumbled, following Malzi's hands as he examined them.

Malzi smiled, though it was brief. "It helps to manipulate dark matters."

"You should have been an artist. With that ability to repaint a new face however you want?"

"All I do is throw some darkness on some parts of my face."

"Nothing easier, right," Erik deadpanned. "Just manipulating some intangible matter to change your appearance. I could do that in my sleep."

"Who can't?" Malzi joked back. A rare sight. He had to be in a good mood. "I thought everyone could."

"You really are a bastard, Malzi, you know that?"

"Everyone is. Some people just manage to accept it and live on."

Erik rolled his eyes. "So, tell me. What was so important you had to bother me out of Olivia's arms?"

"Your wife can wait, Erik. The identity of the last spy cannot."

Erik's attention perked at the words. "The last spy?"

"Do you remember the breakout in your headquarters?"

Of course he did. He was woken in the middle of the night, out of Olivia's arms again, because of the complete wreckage at his headquarters. All because of two foolish people. "At Comershill, yes. Killua Zoaldyeck broke in with a woman to rescue Elias Galivanos."

A confident, almost cruel smile tore through Malzi's face. He handed out a folder to Erik, eyes stuck in Erik's. "There she is."

Erik took the folder and opened it. He frowned as he read her name, eyes coursing over her picture. "Hanaiko Torana."

"Mhm. Amaryllis of the Meadow," Malzi translated, then scoffed. "Either her parents had a wondrous sense of patriotism, or they really liked flowers."

But Erik didn't listen. He narrowed his eyes at the familiar figure—green eyes, greige hair, golden skin. The picture had been taken in a crowd, but he recognized the young woman. "She was with the Zoaldyeck boy at the party," Erik thought aloud. "My spies have spotted them together a few times. I had her in my folders about the Zoaldyeck boy. They seem close."

"They are romantically involved." Malzi leaned against the desk. "Lovely, right?"

Erik knew that look. Filled with acidic sarcasm. "You think she's his weakness?" Erik asked.

"No. I think they are each other's weaknesses. You want to get to one of them, threaten the other."

But all Erik could think of were the Zoaldyeck heir's words, the night of the party. ' _The recoil will be painful_.' His chest constricted at the thought. "Let's avoid messing with them for now."

A sickening snarl hinted at Malzi's lips. "Did they threaten your sweetheart?"

Erik didn't answer. "I'll keep an eye on the girl. She can't be innocuous if the Zoaldyeck boy trusts her."

"No doubt that she's meddled with this," Malzi announced. "Besides, I have a feeling she has… an interesting set of abilities."

Erik arched an eyebrow. "Explain?"

"She seemed distressed at the party," Malzi mused, as though that explained everything.

"So were about a hundred more people, including me. What now?"

The ominous smile on Malzi's face almost made Erik feel sorry for the girl. Malzi rarely displayed such a wide set of emotions within such a short period. It was almost scary. "I may have an idea about what made her so distressed. I need to prove it now."

"… Don't blow up anything this time. At least wait for things to cool down."

"I won't be reckless, don't worry. It's not in my interests."

Erik rolled his eyes. "Right. Because you never get reckless, ever."

"You're still bitter over the party?"

He just shrugged at Malzi's question, refusing to dig into another argument. That wasn't something he could win anyway. "What do you plan to do, then?"

Malzi sat on a chair on the other side of Erik's desk, facing him. He joined his hands together, leaning back in the chair. "Observe her."

"… How?"

"I need a diversion. Something that will drain her. Overwhelm her. Force her to collapse." He smirked. "Something that will make her lose it."

Though Erik made no note of it, his throat tightened at the somber omen. "You sound kike you know exactly what to do."

"Unlike the Zoaldyeck boy, whose past life is a mystery to me, I have a lead on how to…" He paused, gesturing with his hand as he looked for a way to word his thoughts. "On how to poke at her weaknesses."

Erik blinked in confusion. "Her weaknesses?"

Malzi replied with his usual enigmatic smile. "I will need the help of the HCDS on this one."

"I'm not sure what you plan to do. Mostly, I'm not sure it's a good idea."

"Of course it is. Now all I need is to reach for the HCDS. Inconspicuously."

"Good luck with that." The phone on the desk started ringing at this moment. Erik recognized the caller as the head of his squadron in Megamshill. He pressed on a button, letting the call be heard through speakers. "What is it?"

"Sir, we have a problem," the squadron captain started in a hesitating voice. His tone reeked of bad news.

Erik pinched the bridge of his nose. _Of course_ there was a problem. "What problem?" Erik replied, sharing a quizzical look with Malzi—who, on the other hand, was impassive.

"A corpse was found earlier today in the Riverstorm forest," he explained hastily. Other voices could be heard in the background, of his men chattering together, unaware of their captain unleashing the worst news Erik could have expected and one thing that would keep them busy for a long, long time.

"Where in the forest?" Erik still asked, though he knew the answer. He wouldn't have received a call otherwise. It was always what he did; clean up after Malzi. Fix his mistakes. Stop the hemorrhage.

The squadron captain spoke. "The Swanriver area."

Erik would have to do it again.

Always.

* * *

 **1:45 P.M.**

"Say, who would be a better president between Voldemort and Bowser?"

Hana watched as Killua opened one dubious—and still tired—eye. The imprint of his pillow webbed on his cheek in discreet lines. Without thinking, she reached for the marks, brushing them with the tip of her fingers.

"Bowser," he answered after a short moment of reflection.

"Why?"

"Bowser survived decades of being thrown into lava pits and still living. He's tougher than a rock. Tougher than this economy." He rolled to his side, watching her with a drowsy smile. "He's determined as fuck. Years after losing against Mario he still kidnaps Peach. A real conqueror. He's humble even though he's got a giant castle and tons of riches because he drives his own kart and wins with his own means. Hmm. He's forgiving—can still play board games with his friends at the end of the day."

She poked his nose. "Bowser isn't playable in Mario Party, Killua. He's like, the one square no one wants to end on. Especially not with a lot of stars."

Killua blinked slowly. "Actually, that's even better. He's a figure of power. Both feared and loved. He takes from the rich and gives to the poor. Now _that's_ a leader."

"… Okay, I kinda hate that you're right."

"Why hate? Bowser got his ass kicked in all Mario games and still rebuilds his castle with whatever means he finds. He's a tough one. Knows how to make money come to him. He's pro-innovation because he lets Kamek experiment his weird shit in his castle. Pro-employment because he hires people and delegates high responsibilities to them. Charismatic as fuck too, since he manages to hire people to do the dumbest shit."

She frowned. "You mean the mini-bosses?" she asked.

"Yup."

"He lets Bowser Junior fight too. Child labor?"

"More like, letting his son explore his passions. Giving him the means to access his super villain dreams. Encouraging him in his chosen path." He poked her nose back. "The best president."

She puckered her lips. "What about his anger issues?"

"That's manageable. Better than Voldemort's. Voldemort kills children because of random ass prophecies. He's a supremacist. The candidate of the rich 'pure-blooded' noble families. He uses slurs in his campaigns. Bowser is the candidate of the people."

She laughed, rolling to her back and holding her sides. "The candidate of the people, Bowser. My God."

Killua took her hand, bringing her closer to him. "Come on, you asked for it," he argued as he snaked his arms around her, pressing her body to his. He sneaked kisses in her neck while she laughed, repeating 'that tickles!' to him while tugging at his roots.

He stopped. A few intermittent chuckles shook them while they lay together in a close embrace, their arms and legs entwined.

She was playing with his hair, passing her hands through the soft white curls, when she realized his breathing had steadied and he wasn't talking anymore. She glanced down, to his face nuzzled on her chest.

His eyes were closed.

"Killua?" she called, thumb stroking his forehead. She relished in the lushness of his hair, passing her fingers through the messy, tousled white curls like one would in cat fur.

"Hmm?" he managed, not opening his eyes. His voice was distant.

"You're sleeping?"

"Naah."

"Killuaaaa."

"Noooooo."

She pulled away, snorting when he tightened his grip on her waist as she tried to get away. "If you won't wake up then let me get up!"

"Nooo!"

"Why?"

"No."

She laughed, pulling herself away from him until he let it go reluctantly. "Nooooo," he said in a mock-desperate voice, dramatically reaching for her—and then flopping on the bed. "Why are you abandoning me. You ungrateful woman."

She didn't reply—instead, she proceeded to grab the sheets covering him and snatch them away, wrapping them around herself. It left him completely naked on the bed, and he shivered, curling into a ball at the chilly air against his skin. "Why would you do this?!" he whined, opening one sleepy eye to feign to glare at her.

But Hana was too busy imitating Ariel after she washed up on the shore to give a proper response. She took random ridiculous poses with the white sheets barely holding around her chest, a silly grin on her face. "I look great right?" she said, then giggled at her own silliness.

And of course, no matter how blasé he tried to be, he couldn't help smiling.

Then the sheets slipped away. The hasty knot around her chest gave away and—"Eeep!"— the sheets just dropped. She fumbled with them, quickly catching them before ending up naked, while he rolled to his back, shaking with laughter. "Are you done yet?!" she exclaimed—though she was grinning herself.

But he wasn't. The asshole kept laughing—what was so funny now?!—which made her laugh in return! Damn him and his ridiculously contagious adorable laugh.

When he stopped, and only the last remnants of his delirious—definitely unprompted!—laughing fit remained, he glanced at her. "Why are you even covering up?" he asked, sitting up and crossing his legs. He smirked a little as her gaze coursed down his bare body. "Are you suddenly shy around me?"

She let go of the sheets, her pettiness getting the best of her. "No. I just wanted to mess with you," she simply said as she folded the sheets neatly.

"I figured." He flopped back on the bed. "Good night."

She put her hands on her hips. "Come on! Move!"

"Make me," he challenged.

"You really wanna test me?"

"Sure. Go ahead. Try to move the mountain."

"I can get you up in less than two seconds."

"That sounds dirty, but try me," he said.

She opened her mouth, closed it, frowned, considered what he had just said, wondered why she hadn't thought of this dirty joke before he did, and then narrowed her eyes. All in the span of five seconds.

Finally, she smirked. "I'm gonna eat the last chocorobot."

And sure enough, Killua sprang from the bed, nearly tripped on the sheets, and ran after her after grabbing the nearest bathrobe. "DON'T YOU DARE."

She giggled wildly as he pursued her, nearly slipping as she started. "Stop me!"

She shouldn't have said that. He caught up with her quick enough, fueled by his love for chocorobots, and held her firmly as she tried to wriggle away. Both laughing and frankly ridiculous and definitely not dressed enough. (Though that was debatable to her.)

He covered her mouth with butterfly kisses, laughing all the way through before he nuzzled closer. His bathrobe slowly started slipping away, revealing a shoulder first. Here he was, almost butt-naked, laughing uncontrollably against her lips while he tried to stop his bathrobe from fleeing.

Obviously, Hana didn't help much with that. In fact, she did the exact contrary, helping the finicky bathrobe uncover his body as she glided her palms on the exposed portions of his skin. She wouldn't have it any other way. His tout shoulder and hard chest and a bicep peeking through the falling sleeve.

"Hmm. I think your bathrobe and I are finding an agreement."

He chuckled, and cupped her cheeks as he lingered in his kiss. They remained silent then, foreheads touching, eyes lost in each other for a short moment of quietude. He gently stroked her cheek, his thumb barely touching her skin, his touch delicate as a petal. And right here, in his eyes, there was so much longing she could drown in it and never wake up and she would be content with it. All blue wonder and wistfulness and that spark she kindled when she was near him.

Her heart became a hummingbird when he looked at her like that. Like she was precious and wonderful. This was for her. That admiration in his eyes. That love, that passion, that warmth. All for her.

All of it.

"We should eat breakfast," he said, his voice a light whisper. He glanced at the clock as he leaned back, his expression switching to an amused one. "Or rather, lunch."

"First we should get dressed."

He scrunched his nose in distaste. "Wow. Worst idea ever. Ew."

"Killua, go cover your butt!" she ordered—though she probably shouldn't complain. She could indulge in that sculpted ass forever.

"My butt is taking some well-deserved fresh air! So should yours since you're so butthurt, Hana."

"… This is the worst pun ever."

He flashed a cheeky grin. "Has you on your ass, right?"

She chuckled unwittingly—there, he had won again. "This is almost as bad as Lynd's puns."

His playfulness died, eyebrows knitting and mouth twisting in a comical expression. "… Lynd makes… puns?"

The corner of her tips tipped up against her will. "Lynd is a huge dork."

"Didn't look that way to me at all. I see where Tom is coming from when he says she's intimidating as hell."

"She is. Did you meet her though?"

"Yeah, yesterday," he started explaining, slipping to the bedroom and coming back with boxers on. He threw her panties at her—"since you wanna dress up, nerd"— and started preparing the lunch. She sat on a stool, watching him wash his hands. "El and I called the police yesterday. We found a corpse—Priman's."

"You didn't tell Lynd that, did you?" she asked with disbelief.

"Do I look like an idiot to you?"

"Do I have to answer that question, Killua?"

He stopped pouring the oil in the pan, shooting an outraged glare her way. "You're an ass, you know that?"

"I do."

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever. No, I didn't tell her it was Priman. But she… somehow knew."

"How come?"

"I don't know, maybe police chief instinct you know?" His gaze focused. "She's onto something. She knows I was hired by Arashi. I didn't admit it overtly, but she was convinced anyway." He threw in the pan the chicken he had been cutting. The meat sizzled when it met the burning oil. He gave the pan a brisk shake, upturning the pieces of chicken with a fork. "She wants a cooperation with Arashi. Her resources for Arashi's."

"She wants a backdoor in the Mafia?"

"I think so, yeah. I hinted at her that I'd let Arashi know, but I don't know if Arashi will accept."

Hana rested her head on her hands. "It's a great advantage. It would give access to the archives that aren't stored in the police's database."

"Wouldn't it be easier with just one infiltrator?"

"Sure, but it'll be harder. Lynd isn't your common police chief. She sees everything and knows everything about her officers. She has a hawk's eye when it comes to her department. You won't be able to so much as breach her focus."

"Not that I'm tempted," he mumbled.

"No, trust me. Having free access to her resources and being in her good graces is definitely an advantage. She's an asset. You'll have the authorities on your side." She hopped off her seat, ambling toward him. He didn't move as she snaked her arms around his waist, resting her head on his shoulders. "Talk to Arashi. Lynd is discrete. Let Arashi at least consider it."

"I will." He squeezed her hand. Then, she let go of him, leaning against the bar while he added spices and vegetables to his preparation. He waited a few minutes, then added rice and a sauce and brought the preparation to a soft boil. "I'll wait for the corpse identification to come through, then I'll see her."

"You're pensive," she noted, crossing her arms. His gaze was lost in the fizzing concoction without seeing it.

"I just… feel like Lynd knows something. How was she so sure I had been hired by Arashi? Even Faem doubted it."

She knew that particular feeling—the questioning, the mystery around Lynd's resourcefulness. She wasn't a hacker, or a hunter, or a nen user. She didn't have a nen beast to spy for her, or a backdoor in any database, or the myriad of information hunters had access to.

Yet she was always one step ahead.

"You're smiling," Killua said, popping her bubble.

She blinked, then rested her elbow on the bar. "Well, the thing with Lynd is that she sees everything. She hears everything. She remembers everything. She's a fast-thinker and a quick-learner and a bold woman and a leader born. That's a recipe for greatness. I used to call her Hawk's Eye when we first met."

He scoffed. "She's scary."

"And badass."

He shrugged. "And scary."

She giggled. "Looks like she made quite an impression."

He served the food in two different plates that he placed on the bar, then passed her the cutlery. "She reminds me of a wolf. Leader of the pack."

"I think she'd love being told that."

"Won't be me telling her, for sure." He sat next to her. "What about you? How did your work go?"

She ate a spoonful of the meal, relishing in the rich flavor as she brought it to her mouth. She gestured to him to wait as she savored the food, sighing in pleasure. "God, this is so good," she mused, only now noticing how pleased he looked. "Went well. If you forget the fact that I burnt half of my arm."

He reached for her arm, brushing the vines branded into her arm with his thumb. "Does it hurt?"

"No. But it's not pleasant." She buried her nose in her plate, frowning. "I'm tired of having my failures branded on my body." Her mouth felt full of the words as she said them. They bumped against her teeth like clattering pearls.

Killua stopped his fork in his tracks. There she recognized the careful, surreptitious shock that startled him whenever she opened up and confessed her fears—and then the relief that washed over him. He would act casual then, for the sake of her comfort, but she could practically see the cogs working in his brain as he mentally flipped through pages of his 'How to Handle Emotional Hana Without Scaring Her Away' ten-volume-long encyclopedia printed in size 8.

She _was_ quite the piece of work.

"They're not things you should be ashamed of," he started, gaze boring in hers. Calm blue, soft blue. A tether to safety. Did he know what his serene gaze did to her? "And what you did yesterday wasn't a permanent failure. It just means you need more practice. You haven't used this ability in two years, Hana. You already couldn't control it back then, don't expect immediate success now. Give yourself some time. Be kind to yourself."

She squirmed in her seat. "I try to be."

"It's okay. It takes time." He smiled a little, his eyes laughing. "Tell yourself none of your scars can be as bad as the one on my ass."

She laughed, remembering the cow frenzy. "God, I love you so much, Killua."

He fell silent at that. Bit his lip to suppress his grin. His whole face lit up in a way that made her heart melt like a poor lone snowman drowning in a puddle under the sun. Lord have mercy. "Say it again?" he quietly prompted.

"I love you," she said again.

"Uhhhhh." A faint blush caressed his cheeks. Here he was, the ever-so-composed Killua Zoaldyeck, dying of giddiness because she was saying she loved him. "Okay."

She laughed again at his reply. "You have the most hilarious replies ever, Killua."

"Whatever," he mumbled, though his eyes were filled with fondness as he watched her. "Eat your plate. Your food's gonna get cold."

"Yes daddy."

" _God_ that sounds so wrong."

"It's not _my_ fault you have a dirty mind."

"And it's not my fault this poor word was popularized that way," he shot back. "My soul just died a thousand times and ascended to heaven."

"What heaven? You're going to hell, Killua. For all the times you didn't do your laundry like the nasty kid you are."

He opened his mouth, then blinked. "I have a plethora of reasons to go to hell. But my laundry…?"

"Well, I don't care about your other reasons. But the laundry? Unforgivable."

"Yeah, well you're going to hell for all the times you butchered chocorobots' name."

"You and you chorobots."

He glared at her. "Careful. I'm sitting there in hell, on my throne of laundry-to-do, banished by your neat freak ass. You will regret giving me this power."

"Ha! But I have an army of chorobots! Will you fight their precious friends now?"

He narrowed his eyes. "I'll get naked and you'll forget the fight. I _win_."

" _Whaaat?_ You're the one who gets a hard on as soon as I undress!"

"That's..!"

"Very true! Undeniable! As soon as my tits are out your d—"

" _Don't finish that sentence_. See, this is why you're going to hell."

"My dick jokes? Satan would roll over laughing at my sense of humor," she scoffed, flashing her smuggest grin. "I could become the Queen of Hell by seducing the devil himself. I mean, who could resist that?" she boasted while gesturing at herself, tilting her chin up.

He glanced at her for a short moment. Something flickered in his eyes. "I sure couldn't."

Hana's heart hiccupped. Her bravado withered. Her lips stretched slowly in a dreamy grin. "You're too cute," she breathed, fumbling with the words.

He returned her smile, wearing that same fond expression—eyes lidded slightly in that way that softened his gaze. "I hope you realize how good you make me feel. I don't want you to ever doubt that."

Her throat tightened. These words—they were an echo to their last conversation. "I just want to make you feel safe," she admitted in a quiet voice.

"I do feel safe around you." She rose timid eyes towards him. He was staring at his plate, eyes lost somewhere she didn't know. "I didn't tell you before—about my… my relationship—because I was scared. Not because I don't trust you or anything."

"Scared? Of what?"

His jaw twitched. "Of being too much to handle." He finally looked at her, gaze filled with sorrow. "Of not being the anchor you need. Of failing you."

She reached for his hand without thinking. "Killua, look who you're saying that to. I'm a traumatized anxious self-destructing mess who probably needs to hit up her old therapist. I thought I was too much to handle, and yet that didn't stop you." She squeezed his hand. "You don't have to carry this relationship alone. You don't have to be my anchor. You don't have to prove yourself to me, or to anyone. I—I'm here for you as much as you are for me, as it should be." She exhaled. "I want you to be my boyfriend, not my therapist. My health isn't your responsibility."

He reached for her cheek, caressing it with the back of his fingers, eyes drowning in hers. He gently brushed a lock of her hair, putting it back behind her ear. "I know I'm not your therapist. But I want to be here for you. Make you feel better."

"You already are, and you already do. There's only so much one person can do. I don't expect you to cure all my issues." She smiled. "You give me more than enough already."

He shyly returned her smile. "So do you." He averted his gaze. "It felt relieving to talk about… you know, yesterday."

"Your abuser?"

"… Yeah."

"I can't understand how anyone would want to harm you," she mumbled.

"I don't know. I'd bitch-slap myself sometimes."

She giggled, feigning to punch his shoulder. "Not that way, nerd. I'd bitch-slap you anytime."

"Slapping my ass doesn't count, Hana."

"Yes it does. What was I saying?" she asked, keeping herself from laughing. "Right. You're just—you're such a good friend. I can't fathom how someone would want to trample their friend."

"Some people are fucked up. They're empty inside. They need power over other people to feel worthy," he explained, his voice cold as marble.

Her heart felt heavy at the remorse in his voice. The grief, and the bitterness. It was gone as soon as it had appeared on his face, but was enough. Enough to fuel her hatred for this unknown girl who had hurt him, had _abused_ him. Her Killua, so gentle and selfless and kind. Abused because he loved and trusted his friends too much. She gritted her teeth. How could someone abuse the trust their friend had in them? "She better hide her nasty ass before I go off on her."

He laughed, his features relaxing. "You're above that. A high-quality ass like yours shouldn't meddle with a lower tier nasty ass like hers."

"Right. My ass is a two-hundred-squats pure thick 24-karat ass. Top content ass. God tier ass. Makes-people's-heads-turn kinda ass."

"Very-nice-to-grab ass."

"That's not exclusive to my ass," she said with a little smirk.

He nodded very seriously. "Good point."

An alarm resounded from the corridor, interrupting them. They both turned their head toward the incongruous sound, a bit curiously. Then, Hana widened her eyes in understanding and hastily hopped off her stool.

"It's done!" she exclaimed, excitement gathering in her chest until she was bubbling with it.

"What's done?" he asked, eyes wide in confusion.

"The analysis! The neural network finished the analysis!"

He muttered a quick 'thank fuck' before following her to the workroom, forgetting lunch altogether. The scene was quite funny; two half-naked individuals with their mouth still full of food nearly bumping into each other in a narrow corridor. They could use some patience, but they were so close to the discovery.

Hana dropped on the chair, leaning toward the computer. The screen lit up when she moved the cursor. She skimmed through the results of the analysis, eyes coursing through the stats gathered by the program.

Killua simply stood behind her, bending slightly toward the computer. "Got anything?"

 **One match found.**

"There's a match," she breathed, typing some quick commands in the terminal. "It's in the runtime folder."

"Sureee," he said, his voice dawdling over the last syllable. "There's a match already, it's something."

"The match we found is for Scylla," she explained, exhaling before she pressed enter after typing one last command. "Charybdis got none."

"What's 'ls'?"

"A command to display everything in a folder."

"Uhhh. Cool."

She scrolled through the content of the runtime folder, then sighed in annoyance and filtered through the content.

 **ls *.png _**

She focused, heart in her throat, as the computer filtered through the elements.

It finished processing the elements.

And she leaned back, sighing of despair. "Nooooo! What the hell!"

"What?!"

"There's no name in this sample's title!" she whined, holding her head dramatically. "I've checked the samples and most have the writer's name in the pic's title, so why not ours! Why does it have to always be hard! Fuck this shit!"

"Hey, hey, calm down," he said in a soothing voice, and she exhaled soundly.

"I am… disgruntled! Appalled! Uhh." She stared blankly in front of her. "What's another synonym for annoyed?"

"… Pissed?"

"Something more elaborate?"

"… Very pissed?"

"… Will do. I'm very pissed!"

He patted her shoulder. "Come on, we should have expected that. Show me the sample, still? The match to Scylla's handwriting?"

"For all we know it's an extract of one of our messages," she mumbled.

"That's impossible."

"You never know, with my luck!"

"You're lucky alright. You got to bang _that_ ," he said, gesturing to himself with a suggestive smile.

She frowned. "I mean, yeah, but…"

"But?"

"…"

He smirked. "Can't find any 'but', huh?"

She huffed, pouting. "Here's your picture," she muttered, launching the image viewer.

Killua bent toward the sample displayed, his smile dying and his eyebrows furrowing. He remained silent while examining the sample, and, though she was still feeling particularly petty, she mimicked him.

The letters were artfully drawn in the loopy, elaborate curls she recognized as Scylla's handwriting. They quoted a famous excerpt of French poetry.

 _Et rose elle a vécu ce que vivent les roses  
L'espace d'un matin._

She swallowed, as though doing anything more would disrupt whoever these lines were addressed to. "What does it say?"

"I don't know how to literally translate it, but it talks about a young girl who died too early."

"By comparing her to… roses?"

"Yeah. Something about how her life was as short but as beautiful."

She stared solemnly at the lines. "Why would Scylla write this?"

"I don't know. But it looks like it's part of a eulogy. Do you have the date?"

"It's written in the pic's title," she answered. "October 29th, six years ago."

He squatted next to her and took the keyboard, opening the Megamshill's obituary archives. The page was linked to the city's cemetery, keeping record of anyone who was buried in the city.

She watched as he filtered the death reports and eulogies, going back six years prior to this day.

Six names displayed as the page loaded.

Only one mattered.

Her eyes widened.

 **Aurora Tsukiko "Stella" Kareha-Priman  
** _ **aged 4, most beloved daughter and self-proclaimed astronaut, gone too soon after a long battle with illness.**_

 _ **She is survived by her parents and her dear partner in crime Aristotle Fluffy, for whom days seem to stretch by without his best friend to play fetch with.**_

 _ **May her soul rest in peace, in a land of cotton-candy clouds where candy-apples grow on trees and snow tastes like syrup. Just like in her dreams.**_

"They lost a daughter," she breathed.

He quietly nodded, movements imperceptible. "It's horrible. But it's also a lead." He switched to their matching sample. "Scylla has to be close to the Primans to write this eulogy—assuming it's one."

"I guess it'd also explain why Scylla is so involved in this case."

He absent-mindedly nodded, eyebrows still knitted together. "Can you show me the sample again?" he asked.

She switched to the picture, giving him the mouse. "You got any hint?"

Killua didn't reply for a moment, still staring at the elegant ink loops. Sometimes zooming in, and out, and examining certain aspects of the calligraphy.

But then, he widened his eyes ever so slowly, his mouth falling open. She quietly watched him as he stepped away from the sample, pacing in the room with his arms crossed. "Killua?" she called, chest tight and eyes focused.

He stopped walking. "Hana, I know who Scylla is."

* * *

 **Monday, June 1st**

"You gotta tell me one day where you get all those disguises," Killua whispered as they made their way through the grand hall of the Delexo Hotel ceremony room.

Hana flashed a knowing smile, glancing at him from the corner of her eyes. "I have my resources," Hana answered simply.

"How secretive. And I don't have the right to know those resources?"

"Nope."

"Beeeh. Meanie."

Her smile was still there, stuck on her lovely face, though it almost seemed foreign in her disguise. If he didn't know any better—as in, if he didn't know her face by heart after staring at it so much—he could almost fall for her disguise. Grey eyes instead of green, chestnut hair instead of greige. She had somehow even managed, by some masterful contouring trick, to make her face thinner.

But the truth was, as he caught a glimpse of his black wig and black eyes, it took him some time to remember it was him and not a random—incredibly attractive—stranger. Courtesy of Hana's prized and oh-so-secret resources.

The disguises were, overall, a pretty good idea. Their faces simply couldn't go unnoticed in a party organized by Alberto Ramirez, a man born and raised in the glittering world of the bourgeoisie. The hall was teeming with rich guests in their elegant garments, glasses clinking like crystal bells and laughter no louder than what was socially acceptable. All the more people who were part of a world where a renegade crime hunter and a rebellious Zoaldyeck heir weren't anonymous—a world where hunters weren't legends but services to be bought.

And, well, there was that, and there were… other reasons. How could he, a tall, white-haired, god-like, drop-dead gorgeous young man go unnoticed? Nah. Unrealistic. Ah, such a tragedy, to be so beautiful his mere presence could jeopardize his case.

"Are you focused, Alpaca?" she breathed, showcasing a bright smile to the lone staff member on their path. They were making their way through narrow corridor far from the guest hall, in hopes of rejoining the hotel's general broadcasting room.

"I'm always focused." He glanced at her. "Are you, Anaconda?"

She snorted. "Not when you call me that."

"You started it. Get used to it."

"Shut up. They're the coolest code names. Besides, you're the one who argued to have code names to begin with."

"Because code names are badass as fuck," he justified. "Hell, we're like in a spy movie."

"We're better than spy movies."

"Hey, you two!" a voice called. They both froze, but quickly showed their most innocent, confused gazes. "We're short-handed, why are you leaving?"

Hana reacted faster. "Oh, it's our break time," she lied. "It's 10 P.M. and we've been at it since 4. Just five minutes, we promise." She smiled her most pleading smile, unleashing the deadly puppy eyes at the man who was now rubbing his nape in disarray.

"Fine," he yielded. "But don't take too long, okay?"

"We'll try," Killua said, voice dawdling suggestively. "To finish quick." He saw Hana blush from the corner of his eyes, but the man simply sighed, mumbling something about the 'shameless youth' and their debauchery.

When he was gone, Hana exhaled. "God, I thought he'd notice we're not in his team."

"Relax. He looked too exhausted to notice, and our disguises are top-notch. Completely unassuming." His smirk tickled his lips. "Besides, after what I implied, I'm pretty sure he doesn't want to… interfere."

"You and your antics. If you wanna bang me just say so."

"You are so not PG-13, Hana."

"We're both adults here, _Alpaca_."

They opened a 'staff only door', Killua quickly flashing a bolt of electricity to unlock the door. Most doors responded to the same level of electricity; not quite the top security the hotel advertised.

From there on, both he and Hana relaxed, dropping the plastic smiles and stiff composures with a sigh. They took the stairs leading to the maintenance rooms, staying close to the walls in case someone noticed them.

The broadcast room was fairly isolated, located on the far end of a maze of corridors. A big mess really, because though the architects behind the Delexo hotel prided themselves on designing a masterpiece, they hadn't thought through the mess of small staff rooms hidden from the public gaze. It didn't matter as long it wasn't seen, right?

Well, Killua was glad for that mess because it erased their tracks better than any of their techniques. If only all missions were that easy. They barely bothered with surveillance cameras—and the few on their way were easily deactivated with a simple snap of his fingers.

Then finally, the broadcast room awaited. A simple metallic door with a warning sign on it—'recording ongoing'—adorned it. Killua pushed it open, peeping in the room. He signaled to Hana to go in before him, wincing when he heard a swift thump followed by the dull thud of a body hitting the floor.

"Goddammit, Hana, _easy_ ," he hissed, following her in and quietly shutting down the door behind him.

"Sorry!" She hauled the man's unconscious body from the body, dragging it in a corner of the room. "I might have gone a bit too hard."

"Just might?"

"Psh."

He stood near the board, hands on his hips while Hana joined him. He had no idea what most of the buttons scattered across the board did, but he knew enough.

They sat together. He bent over the colorful buttons, fingers twiddling before he found what he wanted. "There you are," he said, pushing a small button by his side. A little 'click' was then heard, ejecting a small USB-slot. "You got the jam?"

Hana fished in her breast pocket for a small USB flash drive. "I've got the jam." Without waiting, he put the flash drive in the USB slot. It emitted rapid blue flickering lights as it buffered the content of their flash drive.

"Now what?" he asked.

"I wanna test it before we do this." She pointed toward a button. A small white icon was drawn on it—A play button next to something like headset. "I think this means you can play the song locally." She took the headset lying on the board and wore it. "Try me?"

He downloaded the song on their flash drive, remove the memory stick, and pressed the button she had found earlier.

Hana remained silent for an instant, eyebrows furrowed and hand pressing the headset against her ears. "I think it's good," she finally said.

Killua nodded. "Good, good. Now we just need to broadcast this little gem, _annnd_ add our customized message to Scylla."

"No, first the message, _then_ the trolling. Do you remember it?"

"Of course I do, duh. _Duh_. I wrote it specifically for these snotty ass people." He located the tools he needed to broadcast the 'little gem', then a mic for the message.

He watched her while she discreetly checked if the mic worked—because of course Sae had a signal level indicator integrated in its system. Then, Sae disappeared.

"You wanna do it?" Hana then enquired, watching him with curious eyes. "The message, I mean."

"Sure." He took the mic and the headset. "Oh, oh, _wait_!" he interrupted before he started. "Can I do the voice?"

She frowned. "The voice?"

"Yeah, the guy who's like, 'and now make some room for the best hit of summer!' kinda voice."

She cocked an eyebrow—her answer was written in the heavy-lidded look on her face. "Killua, this isn't a nightclub. This is a fancy party full of rich snobby people."

"… 'make some room… please'? For the best song composition of… this delightful sunny season?" he tried, showing his brightest toothy smile as a token of good will. "I'll try to sound as posh as possible, I promise."

She held his gaze for a moment, then sighed. "Fine, whatever you want."

"Yay."

He cleared his throat, wore the headset, and adjusted the mic near his mouth.

Then he started broadcasting.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Delexo hotel. The night program is about to start," he said in a poised, almost synthetic voice. Hana cackled next to him, as silently as she could, and he had to repress a smile. "For this night's first song, it will be my pleasure to introduce you to a melody entitled _Scylla's Lullaby_ , a masterpiece by the philharmonic orchestra _Ce que vivent les roses_. If you, like us, find yourself _enthralled_ by their performance, join us on Wednesday, June 3rd, at ten o'clock post meridiem, at the old Zerenice Opera. Now, let the music begin."

He pressed play.

A choir of screeching electric guitars started playing, followed by aggressive roars on a background of rhythmic drums. The slow piano melody playing before in the hotel was entirely swallowed by this beast of a song. The walls vibrated to the music. The entire building resonated with it. One could barely hear their own heartbeat with this song ripping ears and shattering skulls.

Killua and Hana both exploded in laughter when they heard the cries of indignation in the party hall. They hurried out of the room, leaving no trace behind them on their way out. They swiftly disappeared in the maze of corridors, ambling only briefly in the guest hall to take a look at _their_ masterpiece. The appalled looks on the guests' faces, the absolute discord they had unleashed on these poor sheltered beings with their porcelain ears.

They still had giant smiles when they escaped the hotel, unseen to the public eye thanks to Killua's Godspeed. People were too busy trying to stop this major inconvenience of a song to notice them anyway.

Now, all they could do was wait for Scylla to respond.

* * *

He heard the trees' sweet songs. Hand on the trunks, palm flat and fingers sprawled. He let the cursed amaryllis do its blessing while he waited patiently, listening to the gentle melody whistling in the leaves.

There, a finger away, the tree bustled with the life of a dead soldier. One of those who had fought to protect the like of him, to give others another chance at life—a chance that he had lost. A chance many had lost.

His mother used to tell him stories of those soldiers—their bravery when they faced their opponents, their selflessness when they sacrificed themselves on the brink of death to give away this life they couldn't live. She would tell him of their heroes—Sorya, and Alisman, and Kajaan, and Zovia. All of them so young, pitted against the infinite greed of an unwelcome world, the hatred of a humanity that disregarded their existence.

 _Inhale. Exhale. Repeat._

He focused, closing his eyes. On his other hand, a red amaryllis burned bright, devouring the life the black amaryllis sucked from the tree. He called it the Keeper. That was its sole purpose—keep the lives he stole like a safe full of riches.

But it was costing. Hurting. He was heavy with the stolen lives, heavy with the guilt, heavy with the strain of his power.

Heavy with the burden of his own life.

 _Inhale. Exhale. Repeat._

A familiar dread lodged in his throat—as it did on some dark, secret nights. The dread that his amaryllises would drain him of his life. That he would die without finishing what he had started. That everything he had done had been for nothing, and the lives kept by his red flower would vanish into the void instead of fulfilling their purpose. He couldn't give up. He had to keep fighting.

That night was one of those nights. With his tattoos smarting on his hands—life and death right at his palms—, with the sweat beading on his forehead, with his arms shaking and his legs weakening with each second standing by the trunk, taking away a dead soldier's life, the dread grew and grew. It seized him by the throat, a fistful of terror knotting around his neck. It roared to him—"Let go! Stop it! You won't make it!"—but he wouldn't let go and he wouldn't stop it—and, probably, he wouldn't make it. He was withering away with each transfer. He felt so much older than he was, one foot in his grave and the other in hell.

 _Inhale. Exhale. Repeat._

But he wouldn't have it any other way.

He would do it again. Let himself be consumed by his own ability. Watch himself fade until he was nothing. Again. And again. And again. As long as he could stand and breathe, he would never stop.

Not until he reached his goal.

Not until he erased the curse.

 _Inhale. Exhale. Repeat._

Until that happened, he would just listen to the trees' lullaby.

Sometimes, they made him forget that he was dying.

* * *

 **A/N:** my poor emo son. If only your life didn't suck, right? (what do you mean I'm responsible for this? :DDD)

I hope you guys liked this chapter! It was super fun to write (esp that Bowser VS Voldemort debate, ngl). I like exploring Killua's dorky sides (they take like 90% of his being but he just hides it very well lol).

Now get ready because next chapter is called **Allies** and it's full of revelations! As in, to some questions you've had for 20 chapters :DD

Until then, see you! Take care, guys!

-X-


	36. Allies

**A/N:** Hi guys! Thank you all for waiting for that chapter! It was quite the journey to publish it, as I was waiting to finish writing chapter 36 to post this one. So, yeah, you can understand here that **I finished writing chapter 36!**

As always, thank you all so much for your support! Your reviews, your favs/follows, your messages of encouragements… they are so incredibly heartwarming, I wouldn't be there without you guys. So thank you, and I hope this story is as enjoyable for you to read as it is for me to write!

Anyway, check out my profile for more commissions of Hana! I'll update my profile accordingly. Now go on and read this new chapter full of revelations! I hope you'll like it!

* * *

 **Replies to guest reviews:**

 **Guest (Oct. 1st):** Hello! Thank you so much for reviewing and for saying such kind words ;-; I'm so glad you like my story! Also, your English is good! :3 Thank you again!

(I'm sorry if I forget anyone, it's been quite a moment since I updated so I don't remember which guest I replied to and which I didn't… either way, I love all your reviews! Always have, always will.)

* * *

Chapter 35: **Allies**

* * *

 **Wednesday, June 3rd**

 **9:58 P.M.**

" _I know who Scylla is."_

 _Hana stared quietly at the picture of Scylla's handwriting, then at Killua, then back at the picture. She blinked furiously, stunned by Killua's sudden affirmation. "What? How?"_

 _He pointed toward the picture, his finger following the graceful loops. "I know what this was written with. It's a calligraphy set called the Lullaby," he explained. "Pretty sure there are only ten copies in the whole world. And I think our dear 'Scylla' happens to own one." He leveled her gaze. "And so did my parents."_

 _She frowned in confusion. "Wait, what? I'm not following you."_

 _Killua sat down and looked her in the eye. "My parents used to own a calligraphy set called the Lullaby," he repeated. "It's extremely rare—and expensive. Only crazy rich people can afford it."_

" _Hence why your family owns one," she deduced._

 _He nodded. "Exactly. And the Lullaby has a very recognizable… streak." He pointed to the end of the words, circling them. "It's unique. That's why I'm about sure Scylla uses the same calligraphy set my family uses to write blackmail letters."_

 _Hana grimaced but didn't comment on it. She rested her head on her hand. "You've seen someone here use it?"_

 _A proud smirk stretched on his lips. "I know exactly who in Megamshill owns one. And it makes perfect fucking sense. It fits in our puzzle, Hana," he said, a grin taking over his face as he talked._

 _But she didn't share his enthusiasm. "I don't know if I believe in coincidences anymore."_

" _Then consider it her mistake." He glanced at her. "Even Scylla can make mistakes."_

 _She fell silent. Worry lurked in the depths of her eyes—as dark as her eyes were fair. She heaved a sigh, her eyebrows knitted together. "Who is Scylla, then?"_

 _Killua smiled._

" _I'll tell you everything."_

* * *

It used to be called _L'Opéra des Anges_. The Angels' Opera. A splendid theater glittering with luxury, grand and bright and bustling with life.

Now it was just a ghost. A skeletal giant. A cadaver.

One of many.

A few pillars alone stood adamantly across the main hall, the roof they had once supported having collapsed. The result was a ruined grand hall bathing in the moonlight, with the open roof framing a piece of starlit sky. Streaks of red and purple and pink smudged across the dark infinity.

Killua stepped into the spectral opera, Hana behind him with her hand firmly clasped around her gun. He glanced at her as she scanned the place for any foreign presence, eyes alert and step springing. Her suspicion was justified; the Pit was fraught with spies and thugs ready to prance at the slightest scent of a fight. Better be ready to fight back, especially when they were so close to meet the ominous Scylla.

At long last.

"I'm still low key dubious about this whole thing, Killua."

Killua moved the rubble on their path with his boot. They ducked under a fallen pillar barring the large doorframe, moving on to the next room. "Can't blame you for that."

"I'm not saying I don't trust you, because, I do trust you. Blindly so," she assured, and a smile tugged at his lips as she spoke those words. "But I'm just… I don't know. Worried."

"That I might be wrong?"

"No, that she might have… intentions. Bad ones. We're kinda unprepared."

"We have Godspeed in case anything goes wrong," he reassured her. "I recharged this morning. We can run in case it doesn't go as planned. But I'm positive it'll be okay."

"I hope you don't mind me being wary."

He shrugged. "I'd be if I were you. I can't believe you'd so readily trust me—though I know I'm right."

A smile brushed her lips. "Look at you. 'I wouldn't trust me but also I'm right, bitches', eh?" she imitated.

"The 'bitches' is for emphasis?"

Hana chuckled. "Precisely."

They entered a big room. In the darkness, they could hardly see what part of the building they were in, so Killua focused the spark balls of electricity in his palm, letting them light the way for them. Quickly, he deduced they were in what used to be a VIP guest room, formerly used for ceremonies. Rich customers would book it for their needs, whatever they were. Now, the ceremony room was a simple decrepit phantom of its former grandeur, with molding curtains instead of the voluptuous velvet and dust balls gathering in the corner and swirling along the creeping breeze.

"Why did they never renovate this place?" Killua asked, pushing a strong mahogany door that had miraculously survived the voracious mites. It led to a small private room—he recognized an old banner carved on the door that indicated it was only for ' _l'excellence'_. "I remember they had a project to renovate a lot of places in Megamshill, no?"

"Zerenice is… a tough issue," Hana breathed. She flipped a dusty carpet off, revealing a trapdoor, but coughed as she was caught in a dust cloud. "Fuck." She pressed a foot on the marble trapdoor until it flipped halfway through. He held it for her as she jumped inside, then followed her and let the marble slab flip back to its original position.

Hana wiped her hands on her pants. She activated Sae by her side, letting her light the way along Killua's spark fireflies. "Zerenice was claimed by the underworld," she resumed. "Little by little, as the rich left to follow the city expansion, the neighborhood lost its shine. A lot of Tanaleans were merchants in Zerenice, and they were kinda the lungs of Zerenice. And then… Kumotori happened."

"They lost everything," he deduced.

"Yeah. They lost everything and were forced to sell their shops and houses. Problem is, the Kumotori issue created a sort of atmosphere of fear in the country—people were afraid Tanaleans. Nobody wanted to buy their places. So a few rich mobsters rebought some of them at low prices—and from there, it went downhill."

"It was no longer safe?"

"Nope. The hype wasn't in Zerenice anymore, so the mobsters who had rebought old Tanalean stores only used them as hideouts. People fled the neighborhood, some families were quietly wiped out, some Tanaleans were deported out of the country. It was a giant mess. A warzone," she explained, eyebrows furrowed. The electricity danced in her eyes, igniting a spark of spring.

"I guess that's why no one took a real interest in it anymore?"

"Pretty much," she agreed. He pushed a metallic door. It led to a large but empty room dimly lit by a few wall lamps. The meeting point. Another corridor, dark as the night, pierced through the opposite side of the room. Scylla wasn't here yet. "The city tried to reuse some old buildings as social housing for the poorest citizens, but it's so unsafe and unsanitary here, it's worse than jail."

He nodded quietly, listening to her while looking at the steel bars forking from broken walls on the surface. This was once a place of splendor and greatness. People would be there discussing stock markets and jewels and exchanging gossip of their high sheltered world. People in their best outfit would sip champagne while savoring toasts of caviar, carrying the thin glasses with gloved hands while holding their silks. Pearls and feather scarves and gold cufflinks and poised laughter and designer shoes and expensive watches.

All of it, gone.

"That's how Zerenice became the Pit," he mumbled, eyes landing on a spider weaving its web over a gaping hole in the wall.

"Yeah. Now Zerenice is a memory. And the Pit is ruthless, pitiless."

"What a nice explanation," a voice interrupted.

They froze at the sweet sound echoing from the other corridor.

Steps were heard, then. Light, regular, like wood clacking against marble. "Thorough, precise, unbiased," the voice continued, mellifluous as a calm breeze caressing a sailing boat.

But the calm was a façade, and the breeze could turn to storm any moment, deep waves swallowing the boat in their cold depths.

She appeared in the light.

"I could tell you more if you are interested."

Arashi Kareha-Priman, in her autumn-themed kimono.

Killua smirked, crossing his arms.

"Hello, Scylla."

* * *

 _The Priman mansion was quiet in the late afternoon. Maids scurried by with their heads down as Killua followed Arashi, his new client, through the manor. As though they were afraid to meet his gaze._

" _Eugene was a fervent collector," Arashi had said before, and her words came back to his mind as he examined the paintings lining the walls in golden ornate frames. Naked nymphs bathing in rivers, angels descending from heavens, wistful eyes scrutinizing the skies for a godly miracle, women lovers on flower swings, Arab mothers knitting by a fire… the diversity and originality went much farther than what Killua had imagined, featuring artists he had never heard of and scenes that would be daring for the period they were painted in._

 _Arashi caught him staring. "These paintings are not the most well-known, but they are precious among collectors," she explained. "They have a lot of value. They document a less known part of Renaissance."_

 _Killua nodded quietly, eyes stuck on a painting of two men locked in an embrace amongst silky drapes. "Pretty daring, for the time."_

" _My favorite is this one," Arashi said, pointing toward a painting of a geisha dancing for an assembly of men. But the geisha wasn't looking at the men—her eyes were on the shy, unassuming girl serving the tea. "It's discreet."_

 _He didn't reply, thinking instead of those two women secretly meeting late at night and parting ways before dawn. He wondered if they had really existed. "Seems kinda obvious to me. But perhaps that's because I pay attention."_

 _She smiled. "I think that was intended. When you know what to look for, you see it more easily."_

 _They arrived at a grand wooden door with a handprint analyzer near it. Arashi put her hand on the device, waiting for it to recognize her hand. When it did, the door opened to let them in._

" _This is my office," she explained, gesturing toward the room. A bookshelf covered an entire side of the wall, filled with heavy leather-bound books. He wondered how many of those books were unique copies. He wondered how many lost writers had found their work in this bookshelf—safe from destruction and remembered._

 _He walked in, turning toward the rest of the room—an old-fashioned desk with calligraphic tools, a cabinet to keep documents, paintings, a safe. Nothing unusual._

 _Arashi unlocked the cabinet, fishing inside for documents. "I have everything about my husband's disappearance in this cabinet. Will you wait a minute?"_

" _Sure thing," Killua replied, his attention already elsewhere. He discreetly neared the desk, curious about the calligraphy set on it. He tilted his head, searching his memories for where he had last seen this beautiful item of white gold. It sat there on her desk, in pristine condition, sending him back a deformed reflection of his tilted head._

"Gotoh, Gotooooh, can I use the Lullaby to write my letter? Pleaseeee!"

 _His eyelids twitched. Memories tickled him._

"Master Killua, your parents are very strict about the use of the Lullaby. Use a normal calligraphy set instead."

"Umph! No fun!"

 _Right._

 _The Lullaby._

 _The hint of a smile tugged at Killua's lips at the memories. He saw himself eyeing the precious calligraphy set on his mother's desk, envious of the beautiful letters she carved with the pristine pen. Once, during a 'mission' that consisted of an elaborate 'the floor is lava' game, he snuck into his mother's office to peek at the Lullaby, only to be found by his mother herself. And that was how he ended up being given calligraphy lessons—his mother had mistaken his rabid curiosity for interest in the art itself._

 _And now he saw it again. Right here on Arashi's desk, a perfect, complete set of the Lullaby, identical to the one his mother used to own._

 _It was the most prized and rare calligraphy set in the world. With its fine ink a black so black no color shone through it and its pen adorned with a platinum tip. A set so prized it was mostly considered a jewel, a prize, an ornate object._

 _But Arashi, like his mother, was using it to write. Beautiful loops and seamless curls drawn by the elegant tip. He recognized there the characteristics of the Lullaby—the ever so discreet shape of the pen tip, a beautiful kite. The streak ending the words with the perfect balance of neatness and rawness. It made the Lullaby what it was, with the perfect measurements in the micrometer to give the most beautiful calligraphy._

 _He could recognize it anywhere._

"You knew everything, all along," Killua said.

Arashi stood in the dim light with an enigmatic smile, her hands folded neatly in front of her. She looked him in the eye, not intimidated the slightest bit. "I hope you are not too upset, Killua."

He crossed his arms. "Not upset. Impressed is more like it. And curious."

Next to him, Hana wasn't surprised—simply wary. She held to her guns, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

"I'm sorry for not telling you sooner. I couldn't reveal myself," Arashi explained, walking toward them in small steps. "I suppose you want explanations."

"We do," Hana chipped in, analyzing this woman who had so masterfully played all the cards in her hands, keeping both her allies and enemies in her sights. "All this time you managed to keep your identity a secret. How did you get all this info on the enemy? Intel? Or do you have more allies we're unaware of?"

"I'll get there," Arashi quietly said. "Just know I have no intention to hurt you. It is neither my interest nor my ways. Everything I did—including the… ominous cover—I'll give you that—was only to serve my harmless goal."

"Finding the truth about your husband," Killua guessed.

For a split second, melancholy struck Arashi's face. It was as discreet as it was fast. "Yes. And it was best to remain anonymous for that."

Hana relaxed considerably—her body was less stiff, her expression less doubtful. Killua didn't imagine the lightning remorse in her eyes. A part of him felt the same—somehow, he would have to tell Arashi the corpse unearthed from the soil of the Riverstorm forest was her husband's. "Sounds fair," he said. "We do have a lot of questions for you, though."

Arashi nodded. "I'll answer them all to my ability. But I admit this place is a little terrifying. I would rather head back to my quarters, and explain everything there. Would you agree to it?"

Killua shared a questioning look with Hana—who nodded, after an instant of hesitation. "How do we get there? You didn't park your car there, did you?" he asked in disbelief.

She let out a little laugh. "Only if I wanted it gone." She gestured toward the corridor behind her. "I have a secondary car parked in a private underground slot not far from here. My friend could drive us back to my quarters from there; I'm sure you'd like to meet her."

"… Your friend?"

Arashi smiled.

A shiver ran through Killua's back.

He saw her then. A tall woman emerging from the dark corridor at Arashi's call, sauntering toward them in a confident gait. All of a sudden, her soundless presence occupied the whole room as she dropped the perfect mask that had been covering her the whole time. A perfect Zetsu, Killua thought with a mixture of wonder and horror. One so perfect even he hadn't detected it. It was that same mask that had covered her presence before, countless of times, when she had dropped the cards for he and Hana to find.

She appeared in the dim light, clad in tight leather pants, red combat boots, and a black corset. Tattoos wove a collar around her chest and followed the cut of her muscles down her arms, colorful swirls and drawings that highlighted her features and transformed her scars into sceneries.

She had a wild pixie cut of teal hair.

 _A glimmer of leather, a light of bright teal._

Charybdis.

She stopped right next to Arashi, amethyst eyes scrutinizing him with amusement.

"My friend," Arashi explained.

Killua cracked a wry smile. "I take that you're Charybdis."

'Charybdis' stretched her lips in a smirk, her gaze leveled his.

"The name's Penelope."

* * *

"Penelope and I have been working together for a few months."

Hana sipped on her tea, eyes stuck on Arashi. They were seated in her office around a coffee table with tea and cookies. One could almost think they were simply having some friendly chit-chat when in fact, they were unveiling weeks-long mysteries that had nearly driven both her and Killua crazy.

"Under which circumstances?" Killua asked.

"I'll get there," Arashi assured. She took a sip of tea, eyes riveted on her cup. Penelope, whom they had always known as Charybdis, was silent next to her. "Do you remember the premises of the case I enclosed to you, Killua?"

Killua frowned. "Your husband disappeared, with his butler. You wanted me to find what happened to him."

She nodded. "That Butler, Gayan Juma, was the link between Penelope and me."

Hana flinched at the name. Upon her reaction, Penelope narrowed her eyes but didn't say anything.

"Keep going," Killua prompted.

"Gayan was a close friend of Penelope's. And she's the only person who knew about his abilities. When he disappeared, Faem and his… friend sought Penelope. They thought she knew where Gayan had hidden what they were looking for, since she was his friend."

"I didn't, for the record," Penelope piped in. her voice was deep and velvety. "I've no idea what this item they mentioned is, or where it is."

Hana refrained herself from talking. She kept her gaze focused on the mysterious woman. "I suppose they didn't just leave you alone then," she said.

Penelope leaned in her seat, crossing her arms. "Would be too good."

"They forced Penelope to work with them," Arashi dropped the truth. Then, sensing the animosity in Hana's stance—someone who worked with Faem? Right in front of them? Hearing their secrets?!—she further explained. "It's only a cover," she assured. "Penelope is in no way lining with Faem's interests."

"So you're a spy," Killua deduced.

Penelope nodded briefly. "He doesn't suspect anything, if that's what you're worried about."

"How can you be sure of that?" Hana asked, not bothering to hide her glare.

But Penelope simply offered her most caustic smile. "Because he holds my sister hostage, and no sane person would risk to betray him."

"What's your interest in that, if your sister's life is endangered?"

Penelope pursed her lips.

"There's no way to save her sister by following his orders," Arashi interrupted, her gaze going back and forth between the two women glaring at each other. "Either she follows his orders indefinitely, or she actively seeks a solution to save both herself and her sister. It's a risk worth taking."

"I'm doing this for her," Penelope said, ignoring Arashi's comments. "For my sister. To save her. Arashi's the only one who dares to stand in Faem's way; we have a common goal. So judge me all you want, you don't have to trust me. But if I wanted to harm you, I'd have done so _long ago_."

Hana let go. As much as she hated to admit it, they made perfect sense. "Sorry," she quickly added—which earned her a look of utter surprise from Penelope.

Killua, who had been watching the scene with interest, suddenly spoke up. "Faem's smoke friend most likely curses all his men. He'd cursed Mulgrad, the man who sold all of Faem's info to you, 'Scylla', so that when Mulgrad revealed his identity, he would die." He nodded toward Penelope. "Didn't he curse you?"

Silence ensued. One during which Hana, who had finally calmed down, was ready to take her guns and fire at the sole will of her renewed suspicion.

But Penelope only sighed. "Smart boy. But no, I'm not actually a villain in disguise," she added with a comical look toward Hana—who only then realized she was sitting upright as though she was ready to attack her, and blushed in embarrassment. "He did… try. To put a nen oath me."

"Try?" Killua repeated.

She crossed her arms. "He cursed my sister when he first kidnapped her. When my sister knew he wanted to curse me too, we elaborated a plan." She extended her arm, letting her aura flow through her arm. Then, in her palm, a little bubble of water appeared. With a flick of her wrist, she sent it hovering toward Hana, who couldn't take her eyes off the small translucid orb. "Do you mind?" Penelope asked, gesturing toward Hana's hand. "It won't bite you."

Hana narrowed her eyes but still extended her hand. The bubble landed there—and much to her surprise, it enclosed her hand like a glove, and turned pink. Then blue. Then yellow. Then—god, polka dots. "Holy shit."

A little smile brushed Penelope's lips. With another flick, the bubble gathered itself back into its original form, leaving Hana's hand unscathed—although a little humid. "That's my nen ability," Penelope said—but not before splashing the little bubble at Hana's face, who sniffed like a puppy who had accidentally gotten water on his nose.

Hana resisted the urge to puff her cheeks in annoyance. Embarrassment was written all over her face—her cheeks precisely. Penelope simply smirked. "If I focus enough aura, I can cover an entire person and change their appearance for a little while," she resumed. "So my sister suggested I change her appearance to make her look like me—she was already cursed, they couldn't curse her twice.

Killua observed Penelope, eyes keen and alert. "Fair enough. I knew a man who could make soldiers out of smoke; he did the same kind of tricks. We fought the Chimera Ants War together." He nodded toward Arashi, this time. "Now, you. How did you get your info? Are you two working alone? How did you keep your cover, all this time?"

Arashi's smile was in and of itself a riddle. Hana couldn't always decipher her expressions. "Penelope finds me the information I need," she explained. Her smile grew amused—genuine, obvious amusement. "My butler, Oscar, unknowingly gave me information as well."

"The traitor?"

"The one and only. All the information he gave Faem was controlled—and through his ways to contact Faem, he was more of an infiltrator for us than for Faem."

"That's the dude we used to find Elias," Hana said under her breath.

Penelope shrugged. "He's so dumb, can't even be a good dishonest idiot."

"Worst villain ever," Hana added. Penelope smiled at the reply.

"That's exactly it," Arashi agreed. "But apart from his unknowing participation, Penelope and I do work alone. It's enough trouble to not be caught by ourselves—I use private and untraceable servers to do my research, and Penelope is my eyes in the Faem household." She tilted her head. "As for your last question, the answer is simple: you."

Killua blinked. "What?"

"I kept my cover thanks to you. That's partly why I hired you," she admitted. "I did need all the help I could get, and my primary goal was to hire a good crime hunter on the case. But what I didn't tell you was that you also served to divert their attention. Especially you—Killua Zoaldyeck— I knew you'd give them a hard time. Ever since you've been part of this case, you're all they care about. It gives me a certain wide range of action."

Killua leaned back, sporting a smirk Hana rarely saw—dripping with admiration and annoyance. "That's pretty fucking brilliant."

Arashi offered an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry for using you. I hope you don't mind. I did want to tell you one day, but you revealed me sooner than I expected."

He shrugged. "It's whatever. I hope I served another purpose besides, I don't know, wreaking havoc in Faem's head."

Penelope laughed, as though she remembered something. "Whatever you two did, it's messing real bad with him. You unleashed hell in his quarters. Everyone's been talking about the Zoaldyeck heir and his unknown ally."

"Unknown?" Hana repeated, hopeful. "They still haven't figured out who I am?"

"I don't know for sure, but Faem's men haven't. If Faem knows, then he hasn't said a word about it."

"That's good news," Killua mused. "Say, why did you send us those creepy ominous messages if you did everything by yourselves?"

"Oh, we did need both of your brains to help us." Arashi finished her tea, taking her time. "You provided additional information when we slipped some hints to you."

"And neither of us could have gotten Galivanos out of this mess," Penelope added. "Not without taking immense risks."

Killua cocked an eyebrow, as though he was considering whether he liked their answer or not. "Another question, Penelope." She looked at him beckoning him to go on. "Did you see Faem's… friend? The smoke nen user?"

She took a moment before answering. "I did. But he always had a mask on." She gestured with her hands, eyebrows furrowed. "A mask of smoke. Nothing glamorous. He freaks me out. And from what I've seen, the other men don't like him. They're loyal to Faem because he treats them well, and they respect him. But Faem's smoke friend is feared. Ever since he started putting nen oaths on the men, everyone's been panicking."

"That wasn't Faem's idea?" Hana asked incredulously.

"Nope. Smoke asshole did that apparently before I arrived—a little while before they contacted Mulgrad. As a precaution, you know. From the little I've seen, he's very protective of Faem. In a creepy way."

Hana grimaced. "Great."

"Just as you said. Now you," Penelope resumed, this time sitting straighter to look at them. "How did you figure it out?"

"Figure what out?" Killua asked—though his smirk said everything about how he understood the question. "Arashi's identity?"

"If it's a mistake then I'd rather correct it," Arashi said. "I wouldn't want anyone else finding out."

Killua waved them off. "Nah. We found out about you thanks to… our combined intelligence and some fruitful coincidences." As Penelope narrowed his eyes, he continued: "Elias gave us a shady database that stores samples of citizen handwritings. Hana wrote a program that matched Scylla's handwriting to one of the samples. I just happened to recognize the calligraphy set you used, and to match it with the one I once saw in your office."

"Of course a Zoaldyeck would know the Lullaby," Arashi mused. "What was that sample?"

Hana opened her mouth to talk, but then closed it. She looked away. Killua was the one to speak after the awkward silence. "It was part of a eulogy. We looked up the date and matched it to—some obituary."

Arashi's eyes spoke nothing of the pain in her aura. "You found Aurora's obituary."

At the mention of the little girl's name, they all remained quiet. Hana peeked at the pained face of that mastermind of a woman, a grieving mother and grieving widow alone in a mansion too big for her but too small for all the tragedies it enclosed.

Penelope's gaze reflected that pain—and Hana didn't imagine the worry that was there, or the way Penelope's hand clutched her knee.

Hana cleared her throat, awkwardly setting the course again. "Um, there was another thing we had to tell you since we're at it. Um. Killua?" she pleaded, avoiding their gazes and locking on the safety of Killua's.

"Let's… yeah." He ran a hand through his hair. "More bad news, not gonna lie."

"You found Eugene's body."

They all stared dumbfounded at Arashi, who had just slowly articulated those words in a numb voice. It was more of an affirmation than a question. Her gaze hardened.

He sighed. "You might have heard of the body unearthed in the Riverstorm forest; that's… your husband's. They'll most likely identify his corpse in a few days."

Arashi didn't flinch. "They might reveal new hints about the circumstances of his death."

Silence struck Killua—he stumbled upon the next words. "I mean—yeah. Probably. Hopefully."

"How did you find it?"

"A bit of luck a bit of… nen abilities."

"Alright. I understand." She swiveled toward Penelope. "Watch out for Faem's next move; no doubt he knows Killua is behind this. We need to know what he plans to do regarding the autopsy results."

Penelope babbled a few words—a breach in her perfect composure. "Sure but…"

Arashi turned toward Killua. "Does anyone else know?"

"The police chief is convinced it's Priman's body. She questioned me, trying to get info out of me." He leaned forward. "She wants to strike up a secret alliance with you. She's interested in bringing 'whoever did this' down—in exchange for her info and cooperation."

"Tell her yes."

All faces turned, once again, toward Arashi—who was still as determined as ever. Even Hana, who knew Lynd was as trustworthy as one could be, was dumbstruck by the speed at which Arashi had made this decision. "Arashi?" Penelope breathed. "You sure?"

"I've thought about this for quite some time," Arashi calmly replied. "I want that alliance with Lynd Terra. Our methods align—and I need her to give me the autopsy report before anyone else can get it. How do I contact her?"

Hana blinked, as though to wake herself up. "I can contact her tomorrow morning."

"Fair enough. That concludes this discussion. If you'll excuse me—I need a little break."

They said nothing as Arashi stood up and left the room, closing the door behind her. Penelope flinched out of her seat for a moment—only to sit back a few seconds later in silent resignation.

Hana pursed her lips, aware of the absolute desolation in the room. "Well that was—cheery."

Penelope didn't reply. She sighed. "Sorry about that. She needs a moment."

"I'd need a moment too if someone told me they unearthed my husband's dead body," Killua deadpanned, examining his nails. "Did she mean that last decision? Sounded a little rushed to me. We can give her more time—"

"No, she meant it. I know her, she never rushes into anything. If she said that, it's because she meant it." She crossed her legs. "It's not like we have a hell lot of time anyway. We need the autopsy before it's made public."

"Okay," Killua said. "Let's do it then."

"Are we good?" Penelope asked, eyes switching between Hana and Killua.

Hana looked away. She had already dropped a bomb on Arashi—was it wise to drop another on Penelope? "I—"

"Whatever you got, say it." She rose dubious eyes toward Penelope, whose face had hardened but was devoid of any resentment. "I can take it, girl," Penelope assured.

So Hana put her cup on the saucer, sighing. "I was assigned the case of Gayan's disappearance a while ago," she added. "Lynd never gave up on the disappearance of 'Vincent Melchior' and suspected it was fishy, so she gave the case to me. Killua and I later realized we were working on the same case—that Melchior was only a cover."

"How?"

"He had left a diary. It's through a coincidence that Killua found it in my office and realized he was Gayan Juma."

"A diary?"

"He left a package behind, for you," she furthered while Killua wordlessly encouraged her, his eyes riveted on her. "There was his diary, a letter for you, some documents, and…" She frowned. "The thing Faem is looking for."

Penelope leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "What's this asshole looking for?"

"A comb."

She blinked slowly, then rapidly, then narrowed her eyes. "He's doing all this shit for a fucking comb?"

Hana simply nodded. "We should set up a meeting soon to discuss what we have about the comb," she suggested.

Killua supported her suggestion. "We should definitely do that. Also to plan our next moves, since we're kinda working together. You can take care of that?"

"I'll relay the info to Arashi. We'll find a way to contact you—as we always do." A lazy smirk brushed her face—and it struck Hana, for the first time since she looked, that Penelope was her own kind of ethereal beauty. "Bet you missed Charybdis' cards."

"Bet your ass we did," Killua joked back.

Her smile died. "Wait for Arashi's signal, then we decide on what we do. Gotcha?"

"Gotcha."

Hana stood up to follow Penelope out through the secret passage they had used to get to the office. "Oh, wait," Hana interrupted Penelope, who was about to open the secret passage. "I have something for you."

Penelope frowned in confusion as Hana summoned Sae, fingers flying on the hovering translucid screen. A printer suddenly whirred, unleashing the hell spluttering noises only printers knew how to make while it swallowed a sheet of paper and spat it back with some dubious, low quality rendering of a picture Hana had taken and stored in Sae.

Hana strode to take the sheet and gave it to Penelope. "I don't have the original on me, but this is yours. It's the letter Gayan wrote to you."

Penelope stared at the sheet—then at the printer—and then at Hana. "How…?"

"Just take the letter and voilà, okay?" Hana huffed, dismissing Sae.

Penelope said nothing. Then, she smiled—genuinely. A sight that would have swept Hana off her feet if there wasn't another smile that already did. "Thanks, love."

Killua narrowed his eyes at the little term of endearment. "We go?"

Hana acquiesced and took the secret passage with him.

Behind them, Penelope's violet gaze was the last thing they saw before the passage closed.

And then they were gone.

* * *

 **Thursday, June 4th**

 **10:24 P.M.**

"Can you believe everything that's been happening lately?"

Killua glanced at Hana, who had been wildly rambling ever since they had left his apartment. Penelope had relayed their discoveries to Arashi, and together with Lynd, they had planned a meeting in Arashi's office. They were currently on their way there, walking along some unused roads after a well-deserved dessert.

A day had passed, and with Lynd's pressure, the corpse—although it hadn't officially been identified as Priman's yet—had already given hints.

And she was about to share those hints with them.

"Yeah, we had nothing and suddenly there's…" He gestured his hands around. "All this."

She sighed. "I'm going to die either from the stress or the excitement."

Killua jokingly elbowed her. "Contain yourself. The fun is barely starting."

"Yeah, the 'fun'. Unearthing dead bodies and breaking your new allies' hearts with new tragedies and meeting secretly to… discuss around a corpse."

"Pff. Admit it, you think it's fun."

She puckered her lips—her 'I'm too petty to admit that you're right' expression. Sometimes when she did that he just wanted to kiss her puckered lips and hold her tight. She had those bad tendencies to be too adorable for his brain to process. "Fine! It's one hell of a macabre case but it's exciting too. I wouldn't be doing this job if I didn't find it cool."

"There's nothing quite as satisfying as finding the answer to a question that's been getting you worked up for weeks," Killua mused. "Except finding a forgotten Chocorobot hidden in your cupboard behind a giant pan."

"I don't know, I'd definitely put 'see Killua after long hours without him' in that list, but there are days when you make me hesitate."

A grin overtook his face. "What? Why would you hesitate? I'm a delight. Of course I'm in your list of Best Feelings Ever."

"But I'm not in yours, yet Chocorobots are! Unbelievable. The betrayal!" she exclaimed, turning away to—feign to—sulk.

Killua chuckled, snaking an arm around her waist and planting a long and sound kiss in her neck while she laughed. "You know you're in my list," he breathed in her ear, delighted when she blushed and grinned the way only she knew how to. "You're in a lot of my lists."

"Like which?"

"Hmm. Well, there's the Prettiest People list, and the People I'd Get Naked For Anytime list, and the Best Pillow People, and the Pettiest Sulky People, and—"

"That list was going well until the last one, you asshole."

He tickled her with butterfly kisses, to which she responded with more laughs. "Say what?"

"You're in the Most Frustrating Gorgeous Assholes list!"

"Nice. I like it."

"You're not supposed to!"

"You called me gorgeous, what's there not to like?"

She side-eyed him. "I also called you a frustrating asshole?"

He shrugged. "Can't be perfect."

She rolled her eyes, all the while smiling. "Who am I kidding? You're perfect."

"We're about to have a meeting to talk about a corpse, and here we are being cheese fests," he muttered, humbled by the blush that barely caressed his cheeks.

"We're allowed to live. Just because Priman's dead doesn't mean we have to be too," Hana said. "Not even Smokey can stop me from kissing you. You hear that, asshole?!" she said loudly to no one. "You can crash my parties but you'll never stop me from loving this ass! Suck it, bitch!"

He chuckled—a little bit of amusement, a lot more of… how do you call it? Sentimentality? Endearment? Complete and utter melting of his brain? "This is the corniest thing I've ever been told."

"You love it, don't you?"

"I do."

She chuckled. "Of course you do."

He sighed. "It's such a conflicting feeling. On one hand, I feel like I'm going to combust, but on the other I don't get tired of it."

"What, the cheese?" she asked.

"Yeah."

She shrugged. "As long as it's not too much for you."

"Perhaps it is. But that doesn't mean I'll stop wanting it."

"Hmm." She looked up—he refrained a smile at the sight. It made him feel strangely giddy to see his habits were rubbing off on her—and vice versa. "We had sex and yet you're more flustered by the corny things I tell you than the sight of me naked."

He scoffed. "I don't get flustered when you're naked. I want you too much to think."

"... That's sexy as hell."

A smirk brushed his lips. "Oh yeah? That's something, coming from you."

"What?"

"You're one sexy motherfucker in bed, Hana."

She burst out laughing. "What! Why do you say that?!" she exclaimed, her laugh still vibrating in her voice.

"You strip me of my control," he explained, tightening his grip on her waist and relishing in the way she flinched ever so slightly. "Those little noises you make? Or the little things you say? Drives me crazy."

A suggestive smile stretched on her lips. "Things like?"

He thought again of her soft pleas the night before, her blissful face, closed eyes, breathy voice. Her back against his chest, his arms entwined around her body as she gripped the pillow. And his hips thrusting forward while he kissed her neck. He shivered at the thought. "When you asked me to take you from behind. I thought I'd lose it."

"In a good way, I hope."

"In the best way you mean," he scoffed. "I had no idea you liked it that way."

"There are a lot of things you don't know yet."

He left a kiss on her cheek. "Good then. That means I'll get to discover them all. And when I know them all, rediscover them. No way I could get tired of it."

Hana emitted a noise that resembled that of a whistling kettle. "How am I the cheesy one?! Are we even talking about sex anymore?"

He chuckled. "Busted. I definitely didn't only mean it for sex."

"Awww." She nuzzled in his neck. "You wanna get to know me."

"I do."

She fell silent for a little while. "What if the things you find out aren't pretty?"

"I won't judge you if you tell me you like to be spanked, it's okay."

"..."

"... I meant to joke but if you're into this we can—"

"Oh my God, stop."

Killua brought her closer to him. "Hana, I wanna get to know you. Pretty or not pretty, doesn't matter. I have a lot of ugly in me too. Everyone does." He opened his mouth, searching for a way to word his thoughts. "Not so long ago you saw a lot of my ugly and didn't bat an eye. It goes both ways."

She bit her lip, looking at nothing. "I wanna get to know all of you too. And I don't think those sides of you are ugly."

"Yet you think yours are, Hana. We're always more critical toward ourselves."

She stayed quiet, looking for something to reply. As she found nothing, she gave up. "Umph."

A distant smile reached his lips. "C'mon, let's stop being mean to ourselves and appreciate the sappiness we have."

"Sappy corny cheesy me," she sang to the tune of a song he had heard before.

"I'm gonna pretend I don't know you."

"That's gonna be hard when your hands are all over me, young man."

The giggles faded as they reached the meeting point with Lynd—some old decrepit building on the outskirt of the Pit, with a passage to the underground where they could reach Arashi's mansion.

Lynd stood grimly in the shadow of a broken wall, arms crossed and eyes staring at the dusty ground. She emitted one of those 'if you get anywhere near me, you're a dead person' kinda of auras, but when she saw Hana, an entirely different person awoke. Her eyes lit up, shining with affection, and a grin eased her frown.

Hana left Killua's side to hug her friend. Killua watched the two young women, standing a bit gawky with his hands in his pockets while they exchanged greetings.

He had expected Lynd to greet him coldly after the incident in the Swanriver, but she smiled genuinely—and patted his shoulder. "So you did tell your client after all."

"Doesn't hurt to relay your proposal," he replied. "I gotta say, I'm curious of how you figured it out."

"It was just a hunch, I just acted like I was confident," she laughed—but Killua didn't believe a word of it. "Thanks for being cooperative. It means a lot."

He blinked. "Um. You're welcome?"

Hana elbowed him, whispered in his ear: "don't be so awkward."

He glared at her as she flashed her most innocent smile. Without saying more, he opened the trapdoor that led to the underground and held it open while Hana and Lynd slipped inside. He followed them shortly after, after making sure no one was in the vicinity waiting to strike an ambush—you never know, with their luck.

He was about to use his electricity to light the way when Lynd whipped out a flashlight. "Save your energy," she simply said. "You never know when you'll need it."

"That sounds ominous, now," he mumbled.

She smiled as an answer.

The walk to the mansion was quiet, all three of them on their guard as they followed Penelope's directions to Arashi's secret passage. The path forked in many places; each time they reached a new entrance, they would check no one was following them. One could argue they were too paranoid—after all, the only trace of a living soul they had seen were a few rats squeaking as they walked past them—but when your enemy was a crazy rich mastermind with a deadly obsessed friend, and you were on your way to meet the only two people you could trust in an entire sea of profit-seeking mobsters with skewed morality… it was probably only rational.

It was only when they took their last turn that they started relaxing. The path was straightforward, leading directly to the dead-end mentioned in Penelope's instructions. Hana watched the way while he and Lynd looked for the activator to the secret passage. It had to be mechanical, because Killua couldn't feel an ounce of electricity. His gaze switched from Sae, who was displaying a picture of Penelope's written instructions, to the wall in front of him.

Lynd brushed the surface of the wall with her fingertips, looking for the switch mentioned in the instructions. When she found it, she tapped Killua's arm, signaling him to take a look at it. He felt the wall for it until his fingers were on it—then he nodded at Lynd.

Penelope had written that it took a combination to open the way. Something that, in Morse, would translate to 'I am a broccoli', which was also the least obvious password Arashi had thought of. So, much obliged, he did the fastidious combination, pressing the switch accordingly to introduce himself as a broccoli to the wall.

But hey, there were worse things, right?

The wall opened barely an instant after he was done, sliding up. He gestured at Lynd and Hana to hurry in—Penelope had said the wall only remained open for a few seconds to prevent security breaches. When they were safe on the other side, it fell back in its position.

And they all let out a sigh a relief. "God, that was stressful," Hana said. "The underground passages always give me the creeps."

"You never know who's lurking in there," Lynd noted. "Or what."

"..."

Lynd laughed at the dubious face Hana made.

Meanwhile, Killua took a first look of the—much less creepy—place they had landed into. Priman's private underground quarters themselves, neat and naked but safe. From what Penelope had told him, it was uncharted, as it was a part of the Priman Mansion. When Ernesto Priman had bought the mansion a hundred years ago, he had also unknowingly bought these practical underground quarters and the secret passage that linked them to the rest of the passages.

"Say, were you aware of the Underground's existence? All the passageways and the business in there," Killua asked, glancing at Lynd. He was afraid for a moment that she would take it as an accusation—but she simply sighed.

"Yeah, it came to my attention not so long ago. I've been Police Chief for about two years, and I… quickly learnt about its existence." She scoffed. "I also quickly learnt it wasn't safe to talk about it."

"How come?"

"I received warnings when I tried to talk to my higher-ups. Apparently some people in the police are involved in all that nasty business and didn't like that I was bringing attention to it."

"Warnings?" Killua repeated.

"More like, death threats."

"You're being nice," Hana interjected. "They didn't just send death threats."

Killua eyed Lynd, widening his eyes. "They tried to hurt you?"

She exhaled soundly. "I didn't let go of the case so at some point they… tried other ways to shut me up. Permanently." She shrugged. "That's how I became closer to my fiancé, actually. He saved me while two men had their guns pointed at me. He refused to leave my side the remaining month and practically became my bodyguard."

"And then Lynd started training with me," Hana recounted.

"I did."

Killua blinked. "All that because you mentioned it?"

"Yuuuup."

He scoffed. "Why am I even surprised," he muttered to himself. "Yet that didn't stop you, apparently."

Lynd's gaze hardened. "It didn't. But there's very little I can do when I have so little cooperation." She smiled. "I've started this sort of witch-hunt in my own police department, for starts. So many officers have been involved with drug deals or human trafficking—some of them even customers—so I started on a little scale to stop that. But it's frustrating, how little I can actually do."

"That's not your fault," he replied quietly. Hana was walking in front of them, and for a moment, he lost himself in her elegant silhouette. The soft curves and the cut of her muscles and the shape of her eyelashes when she turned her head slightly. "You're only one person. You can't do much against a whole organized band of traffickers."

"I know. But I still want to make a difference. And sometimes making a difference means giving up on things that are dear to you."

"You mean the law?"

"Mhm."

He fell silent. He had never had any affection for the law—he did start breaking it from the moment he was born, trained and raised in a family where killing was an art and assassination a business. Even beyond that, though the concept of the law was necessary—a much needed guide in any society—, too much of it made no sense to him. There were countries where his mere existence made him an outlaw, and his past relationship with another man would afford him jail. Yet that was the law, too. It was as imperfect as those who had made it—humans.

But he also knew the meaning of giving up something dear to him because of circumstances. He knew the sensation—cutting a part of him, giving it up for something more important, averting his gaze. Closing his eyes. It took bravery—and strength. It was renouncing to one's principles for something that was worth it.

And sometimes, that something was a someone.

"There's a point where you can't play fair anymore," Hana's voice broke the thick silence. "Not when your opponents don't play by the rules."

He nodded. "I agree. I know it's frustrating and goes against everything you believe in, but… when your opponents are dirty tricksters, it's better to learn a few tricks yourself. You're not doing any harm."

Lynd was quiet. She put a lock of hair behind her ear, pursing her lips. "I just hope my efforts aren't in vain. I know this is much bigger than I am and there are things I can't change. I can't dismantle the entire Sahertan Mafia by myself, or shut down the traffickers, or—"

"Make hunters follow a law they're all exempt from following," Hana interrupted.

Lynd was speechless. "Yes. That too."

"It's no lie that hunters are not helping. They make things worse. Where's the logic in law when you have individuals who run around killing for fun and disrupting entire countries without paying for it?"

"You don't need to be a hunter for that," Lynd argued. "Just be part of the Mafia. Or be a politician. Or rich. Money gives you the kind of pass hunters die to obtain."

"Hana has a point though. When you think about it, there's something really disturbing about the concept of hunters. People who are above the law, prioritize power over self-preservation, prioritize research over ethics…"

"And we say this as hunters who benefit from being above the law—and enjoy being hunters. The Association is getting a little better with Cheadle Yorkshire's work but it's decades old of rot she has to clean."

"And I don't think she'll spit on the advantages we all benefit from," Killua added. "I sure wouldn't. I already don't."

"Yeah, sure, the concept of hunters is fucked up maybe," Lynd concurred. "But I do see some good. Crime hunters and blacklist hunters that help us catch criminals. Sure, some of the worst criminals are rogue hunters and catching them is, without even mentioning how hard it is, almost illegal among hunters, but in my two years of cooperation with the HCDS, I've seen a lot of perfectly 'normal' citizen doing the worst crimes. And we couldn't catch them without hunters. So that power you guys have—maybe it's unjust privilege, maybe it's dysfunctional, but it's what you do with it that counts. You two decided to catch criminals—some people decide to kill for fun."

"We're not only in there for the good it brings though," Hana said.

Killua acquiesced. "We're in as much for the crime as we are for the criminal."

Lynd shrugged. "And so? Why do you think most detectives become detectives? Because they like endangering themselves for the greater good? Look, there's a lot of shit in your Association, and something like that shouldn't exist as it exists. It's elitist and most people can't access your status unless they were either born in it, rich enough to hear about it, or train hard enough to pretend to it. It's the only profession where your life is so readily disregarded—and your prestige is more important than yourself. But you _do_ work hard for it. And that's like all privileges; you either use it to do something good, or you don't. Turns out a lot of hunters are fuckers with no morals whatsoever, but there are a lot more than you think that are like you. You guys are like the X-Men but less cool. You got powers, you either become villains or use them to do good stuff."

They both laughed at Lynd's joke, who watched them with an endearing smile. "Okay, fair enough," Hana finally concurred.

"Except the last comment. How am I less cool than the X-Men?"

"Last Halloween he was a Chocorobot. Don't trust him, he's not cool," Hana interfered.

"You're just jealous," he fought.

Suddenly, Hana stopped walking.

Killua and Lynd mimicked her, looking past her shoulder.

An elevator.

"Thank fuck, we're almost there," he whispered.

Quickly, they slipped inside the elevator—some old-fashioned elevator with a door they had to push and close—and requested the only available floor.

A minute later, they were knocking on Arashi's secret passage.

* * *

Arashi's office was spacious, but with five of them crowded in a side of it, it seemed a lot smaller.

As per usual, Arashi had brought tea and cookies to share over their discussions. Her introductions with Lynd had been brief but warm, both women sharing a common goal. One that was far from cheery, but perhaps that further forged their bond.

Hana brought her cup to her lips, relishing in the delicate scent of the tea. Black tea, with hints of apple and vanilla. Perfectly fitting with the little cookies in the golden tray on the coffee table.

"I'm glad to finally talk to you," Lynd said, putting her cup on the saucer. "There is so much to discuss."

"I'm glad too," Arashi replied calmly. Hana caught herself staring at her inky eyes, her elaborate thick bun, her immaculate emerald kimono. If Hana had been an artist, she would have wanted to paint her. "I think we could achieve a lot with our joined forces."

Lynd crossed her leg. "I don't know where to start."

"Let's start with us," Penelope chimed in. "First, everything we say here stays here, got it?" As Lynd nodded, Penelope went on. "I know it's gonna be tempting to take action but it's dangerous. We gotta stay low key and your involvement with us gotta stay a perfect secret, or else both you and we are in danger."

"I'm discreet."

"Good. Now, brace yourself, this is a long story," Penelope said before leaning back, nodding at Killua for him to continue.

He cleared his throat. "So. The bad guy is Erik Faem."

A thick silence lodged in the room. No one uttered a word as Lynd gradually pursed her lips. Her back stiffened. "Of course. He's donated so much to both the police and the HCDS, of course that's how he got his resources…"

"He's a big ass liar," Hana reworded. "But he's not working alone. Hence the danger. Faem has the means to do pretty much whatever he wants, but one of his… friends… is some insanely strong guy with a deadly nen curse."

"He's the one who crashed the HCDS party if you're wondering," Killua added. "All those corpses? Charred to the bone? His doing."

Lynd visibly shivered. "Nice. Sweet." She frowned, tipping her chin up—a gesture Hana knew meant she was about to make a perfectly correct guess. "Is he also responsible for Mulgrad's death? I know they were associates—heard about it long ago."

It took a little moment for Killua to answer—oh, how Hana understood. Lynd was so quick-thinking, sometimes it was a little bit surprising how fast she connected the dots. "Yeah, he did that. Almost got me killed." He pointed toward Penelope. "That's when she helped me."

"But she hid behind a creepy but kinda cool nickname," Hana added. "Charybdis."

"That sounds like straight out of a novel," Lynd sighed. "Not exactly what I expected but I'm open to any plot twist."

Lynd then sat back as they took turns in explaining the situation to her. From the moment Killua was hired to Hana's discoveries about Vincent Melchior and his real identity—to the comb's existence. They spared her the location of the comb—it was not vital information, and it could potentially be lethal—but told her everything she needed to know about the case.

The one important thing Hana and Killua kept to themselves was Elias's help in finding Eugene's body. Back then, Elias had used a nen ability that involved fishing in people's memories through remnants of their aura. Killua had a hunch it made Elias a memory trader—a concept they had only recently heard of—which made his ability rare, valuable, and compromising for their enemies. Without his consent, they had no right to reveal his secrets—not even to Lynd, as much as Hana loved her.

By the end of their revelations, Lynd was wide-eyed, still, and perhaps it was Hana's imagination, but she definitely looked pale. She slowly inhaled, then exhaled, then opened her mouth. "Okay. That's a lot… wilder than I envisaged."

Hana snorted. "It sure is."

Lynd blinked as though to wake herself up. "Well I—I don't have as much info to add as you do but let me still share what I got." She adjusted herself on her seat. "The first thing is I managed to press the forensics to examine the body. They haven't identified it as Eugene's yet though."

"That's good. It gives us some time to take action," Killua noted. "Did the forensics find anything?"

"Yes. That's the important thing," Lynd said. "The cause of the death is—" she trailed off, glancing at Arashi. But Arashi simply motioned her to go on with a small smile. "A gun shot. He was shot at three places—the leg, the shoulder, and finally the skull. I'm no specialist but I think the forensics mentioned the wound on the leg was older. He's not sure because the corpse wasn't in a good state"

"To keep him from running," Killua deduced. Penelope eyed him, but she said nothing.

"I assume so. Then, he had no broken bone and no trauma—his death was quick, probably painless in itself. They did make him take drugs, though. There were remnants of his last meal and drugs in his stomach. And there's more."

Upon her announcement, Arashi, who hadn't budged since the beginning, focused intensely. Hana eyed her discreetly, and she wondered how strong that woman had to be to still think rationally and hold her composure when discussing the violence her husband had lived before dying. She did see the pain in Arashi's eyes—wrath and sorrow and melancholy, the thin line of her lips and the dark circles under her eyes and the bottomless exhaustion pooling in her eyes. Yet she was here, seeking truth and justice for that man she had loved.

Hana tried to put herself in Arashi's shoes—but the thought alone, of imagining herself mourning the death of someone she loved, gathering the strength to keep a straight face and bear the horror of that someone's last moments… it made it hard to breathe. She had lived the pain of losing someone she loved—Feri, sweet Feri, drowning in his blood before her eyes—but the blame was hers.

Arashi had no one to blame but the greed of a man she had called her friend.

An urge to take Killua's hand seized Hana. She resisted it, instead folding her hands on her lap and clasping them shut. She couldn't imagine losing him like Arashi had lost Eugene. She couldn't bear the loss of anyone else.

She would never let that happen.

As though he felt her sudden bout of anxiety, Killua called her under his breath while Lynd answered Arashi's questions—"Did they steal anything from him?" and the like. "You okay, Hana?" he murmured.

Hana timidly glanced at him. He was there, staring at her with those pretty blue eyes shimmering with life. Definitely alive—with a presence so strong and assertive she could touch it next to her. She wanted to reach for him, hold him and make sure he was solid and wouldn't slip through her fingers, that he wasn't an elusive wonder her brain had created.

"I'm okay," she said, as quietly.

He smiled. Then, he gently put his hand on her thigh. Instinctively, she let her own hand rest on his. His hand was warm—and real. Solid. Not air, not water. And definitely not dead.

She exhaled.

Lynd resumed. "The forensics also found something peculiar. Eugene swallowed an object before he died. It's in a perfect state—some sort of small chain bracelet, probably gold, strong enough to not be digested."

"A bracelet?" was the first thing Arashi said.

"Yes. He didn't give me more details, but the bracelet is at the morgue."

"Was it… fed to him?" Arashi asked with a little bit of disbelief.

"I don't know. The corpse wasn't in a good enough state to see if there were abrasions in the throat, but he has no broken limb—so no struggle."

"I don't think it was fed to him," Killua chimed him. "I have some ideas but nothing solid yet. I think we need to retrieve the bracelet to be sure."

"I can't do that," Lynd said. "The object is part of a case and doesn't belong to me, so legally, I have no right to take it. Now…"

He smirked. "Yeah, I see where you're going and that's exactly what I think we should do."

"Do you suggest stealing the bracelet?" Arashi asked.

"I think we have to. It's the only way to ensure we have it for us. Problem is, it's too obvious if it's Lynd who does it—and would put her in a bad position."

Hana widened her eyes. "Which morgue is it in?"

"The one we're affiliated with," Lynd answered. "Auburn's Morgue."

Hana sat up. "I can do it then. I know that morgue like the back of my pocket."

For the first time since the beginning of the conversation, Penelope laughed, her laugh chiming in a deep bell sound and just as beautiful. "That doesn't sound weird at all."

Hana flushed red. "I—I always use my nen ability on a corpse if I have a murder case. Sometimes it reveals info the forensics couldn't find."

"Traces of aura?" Penelope asked.

"Yeah. I know where they'll store the things they find too. I can retrieve the bracelet and perhaps even use Sae on Eugene's body." she turned toward Lynd. "No one knows about the bracelet?"

"Only you all, me, and the forensics. Nothing official yet."

"I can do it then," she assured. "I just need to know when."

"The sooner the better," Penelope said. "Before it becomes official, at least. When did the forensics find this all?"

"Yesterday only," Lynd assured.

"Then either tonight or tomorrow would be safer. Before there's word of it."

Hana checked her phone for the time. "Tonight is good. It's late enough to be inconspicuous."

Killua was silent. His eyes weren't. He looked timid, afraid, but masked it behind a calm face—a sight that tore her apart. "Are you sure it's a good idea?"

"I think it's necessary. We need the bracelet, and I'm the most suited to take it. I'll be back in no time."

"I could come with you," he suggested—and the worry that dripped from his words made Hana's heart break.

"It's better if you stay here and help make plans. No one makes plans like you do," Hana said. She flashed her softest smile, willing her voice to be reassuring. "I'll be fine. And if there's anything wrong, I'll call you. Okay?"

Killua hesitated. Hana wasn't sure if it was his worrisome nature or the impact of their discussion, but he was more anxious than usual.

"Okay, be careful though," he gave in. His voice was weaker—she couldn't shake off the feeling that he was holding back his nervousness. She shrugged off that hunch and got ready to leave.

But as Hana disappeared through the underground labyrinth on her way to the morgue, Killua's timid plea still gripped her at the core. It was more the fact that she worried him than the reason he was worried that got her thinking. Because she hated the sight of it—his eyes almost begging her to stay for a reason she couldn't comprehend, while he spoke the contrary of what he wanted. Did he have a premonition? Or was it his immense worry for her speaking? She wasn't sure. All she was sure of was that it was now or never to retrieve the bracelet. Waiting any longer than that would be too risky.

Now was the safest way to act.

… or so she told herself. She knew very damn well that if anyone could trip on a completely smooth surface, that would be her.

And she had no idea how right she was.

* * *

 **A/N:** lolol. So how do you like those revelations? :D I've had them in mind for soooooooo longgg like, ever since Charybdis first appeared, which was in chapter 12, this was the plan. I'm so psyched to reveal such important plot points!

So, now, tell me, how did you like the chapter? Do you like Penelope? Did you have a hunch about Scylla and Arashi? And how did you like the little cheese fest too? Tell me all! Or, idk, just send "I like it!" or any number or keyboard smashes, it'll still make me happy!

Next chapter is called **Toxic** and there's a lot of action, some revelations, annnnnd a surprise guest! Try to guess who, I'll tell you if you're right :D

Until then, have a nice end of week, a nice day/night, and enjoy yourselves!

Bye!


	37. Toxic

**A/N** : Happy new year!

* * *

 **Replies to guest reviews:**

 **Guest** : I don't know if you'll read this, but thank you for the reviews! Your compliments and especially your praise about Hana lifts my heart. Thank you, and I hope you're liking the fic :D

 **KitKat** : Hi there! Thank you for reviewing! Tbh I'm impressed that you suspected Arashi ;D Thank you for the praise and I hope you'll enjoy this chapter :D

* * *

Chapter 36: **Toxic**

* * *

One hour had passed since Hana left.

An entire hour of improbable catastrophes rewinding in his head while he frenetically checked his phone for any call from her. Sixty minutes of his heart squeezing into itself at every tragic end of every tragic scenario that leeched to his brain. Three thousand and six hundred seconds that each weighed on him—they pressed onto his chest like he was the hourglass they were pouring into.

Yeah. For some obscure reason, Killua was freaking out.

 _Pull yourself together._

It wasn't the first time Hana handled something potentially dangerous on her own. Each time that happened, he would get his fit of anxious nail-biting, but it was never that bad. What he could usually brush off with a simple _"she'll be fine, and if she's not, I'll be there"_ was now twisting his stomach less-than-agreeable tight knots and he had no idea how to make it stop. The foreboding was just there, sitting on his chest, and he couldn't tell if he had to take it seriously or if he was being unreasonable.

Chances were he was being unreasonable. Or at least, he prayed all the gods he didn't believe in that he was.

"To think Faem of all people would be behind this," he heard Arashi say and briefly glanced at her. She was talking to Lynd, both women exchanging information about the infamous golden boy. "He was a friend of ours. We talked about Greek Mythology for hours. We exchanged books, and he and Eugene would discuss classical paintings together. How did he hide it so well?"

For a—very— brief time, Killua forgot his worries and thought of Erik Faem's dead friends—Eugene Priman, Ziam Torana. Both close friends of Faem—both killed by this man with a mask of smoke. It bore the same pattern. And when Killua thought of Faem in mourning—the eulogy he had written for Ziam Torana, the playground he had named after him, the long days in mourning wearing black after Eugene Priman's death, long after the due time—, he couldn't help wondering if Faem wasn't both victim and executioner. The grief felt too real to be faked, and Killua was a master at detecting repressed emotions and fake ones.

He would know, he was currently letting his anxiety pile at the base of his throat without coming close to show a glimpse of it.

Killua glanced at the women. "I don't think he was lying the whole time," he started, catching their attention—and glad for the distraction. He buried the macabre scenarios his mind has concocted and focused on the golden boy. "Faem isn't the only one to blame. He may be responsible for all this mess, but I wonder if he's the one pulling the strings."

Arashi frowned. "How so?"

"I think his friend, the smoke guy, is behind this. Not sure why, but everything leads to believe that," he said.

"The guy Hana calls Smokey, right?" Penelope asked.

Killua's heart missed a beat at the mention of Hana's name. The anxiety whirled back in, seizing him at the throat. He looked at Penelope from the corner of his eyes. "Yeah. That would be him." He swallowed, willing his anxiety to quiet down. "Smokey doesn't always do what Faem wants. It feels more like Faem is the one doing what Smokey wants."

"Explain?" Lynd requested.

Killua happily complied. "Remember the HCDS party? The absolute mayhem? All Smokey's doing. He killed a bunch of people, set the ballroom on fire… a lovely mess. Now, the thing is, Faem's wife was stuck in that fire. I found her before she died, but if it weren't for me, she'd be dead. You see where I'm getting?"

"Faem's friend endangered Olivia's life," Arashi guessed. "From what I remember, Erik seems very much in love with Olivia. But I can't tell what is real and what is pretense anymore."

"Trust me, his fear was real when she was stuck inside," Killua recounted. "He was about to rush in himself—two men were needed to hold him back."

"Does sound pretty real," Penelope chimed in.

Lynd nodded. "So Faem basically handles what Smokey wants."

"And Smokey is a finicky asshole," Killua added. It took him a second to realize they were all calling Faem's friend 'Smokey'. Hana would be proud of her nickname being used as a default. It sure didn't make the asshole sound as intimidating. He smiled a little at the thought—but the relief was short-lived. Worry pooled back in his chest, oozing through the cracks in his composure. He didn't know where this panic came from—or if it was justified. But it was heavy, and there, and it clutched to his heart—a foreboding like a noose around his neck.

As Lynd and Arashi got engrossed into a debate about Faem's intentions, Killua got up, ambling in the room—pretending he needed to move his legs. He briefly saw Penelope eyeing him with curiosity while he feigned to check the books on Arashi's bookshelf. It was little distraction—but it was still something. A lot of those books were unique transcripts, ancient ones, or, even better, original manuscripts. While the terrible omen was still poking into his head, the thick leather-bound books offered a safe bubble for a short instant.

"You okay?"

He turned toward the deep voice, too tired to glamour his worry. Penelope was standing there, leaning against the desk next to the bookshelf. "I make do."

She looked at the ceiling, silent. While she wasn't looking, he peeked at a tattoo of a cat strolling on one of her scars, on her arm. "You're worried about Hana?"

He didn't reply, and it was enough of an answer as it was. Instead, he asked Penelope about her tattoos. He didn't care, really, but he liked her voice. It was calming.

He wasn't sure she had understood, but she didn't insist. She told him about the cat on her scars—it was a replica of her cat Reaper, but she said it was out-of-character because all Reaper did was sleep. When she raised her arm to show him another tattoo of Reaper—this time sleeping on another scar in the inside of her arm—he noticed a bracelet around her wrist. It was a knitted bracelet with pink, white, and grey weaved together.

"Is this a pride flag?" he asked, gaze switching from the pretty bracelet to Penelope's eyes.

"Oh, yeah." She smiled. "It's the demigirl flag. Pretty neat, right?"

"For sure. It looks cool." He looked at her then. "... Have I been misgendering you all this time?"

She smiled. "I do partially identify as a woman. A non-binary woman. And now you know."

"Okay. So what are your pronouns? If it's okay to ask."

"I go by she/her so you're fine. Thanks for asking, actually."

He shrugged. "Just wanted to be sure," he mumbled.

Penelope eyed him curiously, as though she wanted to ask something but didn't know how. "I'm curious about how you recognized the flag."

"I've seen quite a lot of flags." He shrugged. "Let's just say I'm very much not straight."

She chuckled. "Look at that, one thing we have in common."

"We have a lot more in common," he noted. His thoughts drifted toward Hana. He forced himself to stay calm.

Penelope crossed her arms. "She'll be fine, Killua. And if she isn't, she'll call you. You trust yourself to help her in case of a problem, right?"

"I do," he said after a short hesitation.

"Then in the worst possible case, she's covered. Voilà."

He smiled. "Voilà," he repeated, surprised by how easily she had kept him grounded. For sure the anxiety was still prowling, but there was air in his lungs and the alarms had dulled to whispering voices. "Thanks."

The corner of her lips tipped up. "She's quite a catch, you know. If I didn't have my eyes on someone else, I'd have tried to steal her away."

There was perhaps a little bit of jealousy in Killua's expression, but when he rolled his eyes, it was all good-hearted playfulness. "You have no idea how many people have told me this."

Penelope laughed. "She's coveted, I see. Treasure her, then."

"I do."

They walked away from the bookshelf after a few unrelated questions—"So, does she have a lot of books like these?" "Oh boy, you're not ready for this conversation."— and though Killua still felt nervous, he was a lot lighter.

If he repeated it enough, he could convince himself that everything would be fine.

Hana would be okay.

* * *

 **Friday, June 5th**

 ** _1:12 A.M._**

 _Red was all she could see. Smeared on her clothes, on her hands clutching her hipbone, on the grass where she had collapsed. Some of it hers, some of it not. Her hand weighed tons when she rose it, turned it, and examined it through her blurry sight. Dark, oily, glistening. It was all red._

 _Noise was all she could hear. The ringing in her ears; obsessing, loud, sharp. Her breathing; ragged, hot, feverish. Her heart; beating, beating, beating. She heard it from underwater, from inside the headache pounding in her skull, lurching at it like a stormy sea engulfing a ship._

 _Rust was all she could taste. Metal on her tongue. Acrid and unpleasant. It made her nauseous._

 _Sour was all she could smell. Acidic and intoxicating. It filled her nose, filled her head._

 _Pain was all she could feel. It smarted. It pulsed. It begged. Her entire body was numb except for this pain radiating like the core of a star, a stake plunged near her hipbone._

 _She felt all, and then she felt nothing._

 _How had it even happened?_

* * *

 **0:12 A.M.**

Death reeked in every single corner of the morgue. It seized her by the throat, sickening and suffocating, thick as a fog and twice as heavy. Not even the aseptic cleanliness could mask the decay oozing from every crack in the walls. This place welcomed no living soul and it made a bold statement of it.

Hana shuddered. Even the cemetery that teemed with corpses wasn't half as eerie as the morgue. In the dark, the corridors seemed to narrow down on her, swallowing her in their endlessness. She could never get used to the sensation, the immense helplessness whenever she crossed those corridors. Sometimes it felt like she was traveling in the bowels of a monster.

 _Oookay. Think of bunnies, Hana. Bunnies. Puppies. Kittens. Killua._

You never knew what might be lurking in the dark corners of the morgue. It was easy to turn the shadows of the forking tree branches cast on the walls into lonesome creatures with bony clawed hands—those same clawed hands that grated against the windows, desperate to tear through her body, right? And though Hana was convinced that in a horror movie, she would be the survivor—there was no way someone as beautiful as she would succumb so soon—, there were never too many precautions to take to avoid legions of undead hunting for her brain.

Although to be fair, that wasn't nearly the scariest thing that could happen to her.

 _Way to go, Hana. So much for the relief._

She managed a little sigh—as loud as she allowed herself to be. It was bad enough that she was alone with a bunch of frozen corpses in a giant death facility, she didn't have to make it worse.

…

Well, _not_ being alone was no better, in this particular case. Better alone than in bad company, right? And by bad company, she imagined something like a spectral monster hungry for her young maiden flesh, or a lone corpse rising from the freezer where it was stuck to seek her, or a serial-killer—

Wait, no, not that. She _caught_ serial killers. Serial killers feared _her_ , not the other way around. Now _that_ was an empowering thought!

 _Come hither, you disgusting monsters, zombies, and other oddities!_ She thought. _Serial-killer-catching Hana is not scared of your blood-lusting asses!_

A loud grating noise resounded in the dark, followed by what resembled strangely the lovely sound of claws scratching the floor. Hana froze, eyes wide in the dark, checking that a flesh-eating wraith—or, worse, a _rat_ —wasn't following her.

 _Okay, maybe, don't come. I'm good. Let's be friends. I don't taste good anyway._

It was a good thing that she would get to her destination soon enough—after long minutes of replaying those haunting long-dark-creepy-corridor-scenes in all the horror movies she had seen, where the protagonist had to run from whatever was pursuing them (usually not something pretty) in a long, dark, creepy corridor (kudos if there's an elevator at the end and it won't freaking open) (it's always the elevators). If she remembered well, the morgue was comprised in all its immensity in mainly three rooms—not counting the small storage rooms, personal offices, and reception desks. There was the cold room, where corpses were stored before their final fate—either to be buried or burnt or 'gifted' to the local medical university, if no one claimed them. In a hidden corner of the morgue, there was the incineration room where corpses were burnt.

And finally, at the end of the long corridor she was crossing, the examination room where all autopsies were made, and all the key elements of a corpse were stored during its examination.

The corridor ended.

Using an old badge she had made months ago to breach into the morgue, she opened the code-locked door. The cold in the room hit her face first, forcing her to nearly close her eyes. A shiver crawled its way up her back, and she hugged herself for warmth and comfort before promptly closing the door behind her. The examination room was as cold as a fridge. She almost felt the chill of the metallic furniture in the cold.

She scrunched her nose. The morgue smelled both like hospitals and cemeteries, with the additional earthy smell of something that had been dug up from the ground—something that used to be a someone.

Then only, after shaking off the nauseous scent, she looked at the room. The disposition was the same as she remembered. A single examination table in the center, wheeled metal cabinets filled with instruments near it, an irrelevant desk that was always empty, a fridge in the back of the room—where notable organs were stored for further examination, as well as DNA extracts and, sometimes, miscellaneous objects. The one change was a whiteboard filled with notes that replaced the blackboard and chalk that used to be there.

And on the table, a corpse. The size of a man, although thin and decrepit—as decrepit as a corpse in decomposition. The body was resting under a big white bag closed with a zipper. His name was written near his feet.

Hana grimaced upon the realization that she was currently with Eugene Priman.

 _Great._

Hana sidestepped slowly around the examination table. Her curiosity nudged her to open the zipped bag and see the face of the dead man, but she wasn't sure she could stomach it. Not the corpse in itself—she had seen her fair share—but the knowledge of what Eugene had become.

All because of a comb.

Nevertheless, after one small sigh, Hana summoned Sae, pushing aside the sentimentality. She scanned the corpse, then the room, corner by corner, checking for traces of nen. No doubt that if she found anything major, she would probably freak out, to say the least. But at least it would guide her.

"You're as silent as a corpse," Hana murmured to Sae, then smiled to herself. "Ha, get it? I'm so fucking hilarious."

Sae obviously didn't reply—not vocally at least. Because on the screen, a certain notation showed up, which made Hana flinch both in surprise and uncertainty.

 **Aura detected.**

 _Rate too low to be calculated._

Uh-oh.

Without waiting, Hana switched to a smaller scale and analyzed each cabinet independently until she found the one that contained the aura-filled object. She opened it, fishing inside—though with precaution, lest she touched something… she would rather not touch. Never mind that she was wearing gloves, some things were untouchable.

Using Sae's screen as her only source of light, she wasn't as fast or discreet as she would have liked to be. It took her painstaking moments of snooping inside that cabinet, scrunching her nose in faint disgust, and repressing the skin-crawling feelings she got whenever she brushed anything unidentifiable, but at last, she found it. The object that emitted the aura.

It was a small golden chain bracelet.

"Bingo," she whispered, taking between her fingers the little zipped plastic bag that enclosed it. Quickly, she checked the reference written on the plastic bag was the same as the one written on Eugene's record on the examination table.

It matched.

That was the object Eugene had swallowed. And it was the object that emitted aura.

Something told her it was no good coincidence.

She closed the cabinet. In her hand was the next unique hint to their case, the bracelet Eugene had swallowed for whatever reason.

She had it.

Curiosity got the best of her. Without opening the bag—ew—she stared at the little jewel, examining it under new angles. It was small and thin, too small for an adult's wrist. It reminded her of the little bracelets some parents fastened around their toddlers' wrist. Some cultures—like hers—associated superstitions to those bracelets. The bracelet was supposed to relieve the little one when they were teething, or to help them grow up healthy and balanced. She herself used to have a tiny bracelet like this one—a rose gold little artifact with her name written on it.

Now, as to why a baby's bracelet would be in a dead man's stomach… That was a hard one. Maybe Eugene had swallowed it on purpose, to make himself sick—and thus in need of a hospital. Or maybe that was a hint about whoever had done that to him—the man with the toxic smoke. Maybe it had been force-fed to him—as some sort of torture? Who knew. It was too early to emit any prognostic—at least without Elias to read it.

Suddenly, a detail struck Hana. She frowned, narrowed her eyes. On the other side of the bracelet, there was a thin plate connected to the tiny chains of the bracelet. And there was something written on the plate, in loopy cursive letters. _The baby's name._ She squinted, trying to read the name in the dark.

 _Malzi._

Her head jerked back in confusion. Malzi?

A crack interrupted her thoughts. Her blood froze, all questions about this baby forgotten. She slipped the little bag with the bracelet in her pocket, instantly setting up a zetsu and hiding behind the door.

Then she focused.

She heard steps. Regular, confident. Steady. They were approaching. Louder and louder, as loud as her heart when the intruder's terrifying aura reached her. An aura so loud it was deafening, yet quiet as a poison and twice as toxic. Like the quiet grip of smoke when it smothered, and crushed, and killed in its weightless embrace.

A beep resounded.

The door opened.

His hand was the first thing that passed through the door. And it didn't matter that it was pitch black, that she was hidden behind a door, or that she couldn't see without Sae by her side.

Because one thing was sure.

Hana hadn't imagined the smoke wafting over the man's hand.

* * *

Her first reflex was to shut off her aura. Close her canals, tuck all her energy away to hide it from his keen senses. She watched him like a ghost hidden in the dark, her mind whirring with a thousand calls for panic. Her instincts took over, driving her numb body to safety.

The smoke nen user was here. He was right in front of her, and it was a matter of seconds for him to get used to the dark and see her.

If he hadn't already.

There was no way she could open the door without being noticed; she had to localize all the windows nearby. She swept the room with a frantic gaze. Each wall she brushed was yet another punch in her throat—there was no window. None. At all. She was trapped in the examination room of an ice-cold morgue with both a corpse and its killer, and the only way out was the door she had first crossed—the same code-locked door firmly shut behind her.

Two seconds had passed since the man had entered the room. Two seconds of full Zetsu and breath held to herself while he sauntered in the room, a tall, lean figure blending in the darkness.

But once those two seconds had passed, the man froze.

And Hana let her third, and loudest thought take over: she ran.

With a burst of aura, she broke through the door, running through the long corridor as far as her legs could take her. She didn't think, or hear, or feel anything besides the urgency to leave this place and get away from the man. Not the dust of the impact or the drop of temperature or the sweat beading on her face. Nothing except the necessary. Fear to fuel her, to trigger her survival instinct. Anger to fight back. Hope to run on.

That was all she needed. Everything else—the crippling anxiety, the panic, the overwhelming need for fresh air, the sensation of falling head first into her grave… She ignored them.

And she let that alone guide her through the black maze.

The corridor forked at the end. To avoid losing her momentum or wasting time with the curve, she jumped and positioned herself parallelly to the wall next to her. Then, she pushed on her feet, throwing herself forward and landing near the door. An ounce of hope tickled her then—if she could get through that door and barricade it, she could earn a few seconds. That was all she needed to get away from—

A wall of smoke irrupted from the floor, wafting slowly, taunting her with their black sinuous tendrils. She abruptly stopped, jerked back, then quickly charged aura into her fist to ram it into the wall—if there was no exit, she would make one herself.

Or so she had intended.

The man grabbed her arm, keeping her in his iron grip. For a quick instant, she glanced at his face and shuddered at the sight. Smoke—pitch black, slow waves—all over his face; two piercing blue eyes alone emerged from the sea of smoke, boring into her soul. Their gazes had only crossed for a split second, and yet in that instant, Hana felt as though she had stared into her grave.

She kneed the man in the groin, then took advantage of a moment of inattention as he gasped in pain to yank her hand out of his grip. Immediately, she flung her foot into the wall, bracing herself for the impact as her muscles tore through the concrete. Rubble collapsed from the fragilized wall, but she didn't care. She let it collapse, filling the hole through which she had jumped—closing the gate she had opened.

And she ran. So fast she barely heard her pounding heart and heaving breath. So fast she didn't recognize the rooms she was running through—was that an office? A freezer? A waiting room? She had no idea. She had no time to check.

She had to get away.

There was one corridor she did recognize. It led to the front desk, the one that would give her the deliverance she sought. Her escape. She heaved a sigh, dashing through the corridor. She longed to feel the fresh air, to hide away from this murderous bastard. Hope already bubbled in her chest—she was so close to her goal.

She burst through the door, inhaling deep.

And there, the man was waiting. Sitting casually on the reception desk, his legs crossed as though he was having tea, hands folded on his lap.

The hunter had found his prey.

And for the second time in her life, Hana had become the prey.

Icicles were thrust in her veins. A wave of heat subdued her. She was heady with hot anger and the very familiar cold dread pulsing through her.

He didn't budge. Observing her as though she were a funny specimen, his head tilted like that of a bird. He was almost graceful, an eerie wraith ready to reap her soul.

"Impressive," he simply said. A cold shiver shook through her—his voice was rough as a grave, gravelly and menacing and everything her young self had imagined monster voices to be. It chilled her to the bone—this inhumane sound coming from a human.

He hopped off the desk. Without a word, he ambled toward her—a cat on the prowl. It could have been seconds or hours since this madness had started—it felt like centuries to her heart. But now more than ever, she felt each second weigh on her—cement her feet to the ground, as though she were a part of it.

He rose his hand. Palm facing her way—a ball of smoke sat there, waiting to combust her lungs, and yet she barely saw it.

All she saw was his hand nearing her face. Closer and closer, fingers sprawling with each centimeter.

Her ears rang. Her hands quivered. Her eyes widened.

Memories roiled in when she needed it the least. Dark memories of another man who had destroyed her life. A man whose hands had torn through her with agony, with a single flower and a deadly curse.

But there was a difference, though.

And it was that there was no flower on the smoke man's hands.

So Hana, fueled by this new reassurance, summoned her gun in her hand. She had been through hell and back. She had been the exception to a dark curse's pattern. She wouldn't let this wraith, dangerous as he may be, claim her. Not when she had survived hell. Not when she had stared into Death's eyes and said, 'not today'.

A Wraith was nothing next to Death itself.

She shot.

He dodged.

She shot again. Once, twice, thrice in a rapid burst of fire, an arc that followed his graceful movements. He abruptly stopped—a split second later, a chair was flying toward her.

In her mind, it was clear, what he was trying to do. Distract her, blur her reactions, crop her field of vision. Then, he would throw his little bubble toward her, right when she couldn't see. But he hadn't counted on her renewed fire. He hadn't seen this little spark kindled by the memory of her survival, the knowledge of her scar on her stomach—once a disgrace, now a cuirass.

She ducked. Rushed on his right to flank him, force him out of his position, force him to twist to see while she aimed for the soft parts under his arm. It didn't matter that he would dodge her shots—of course he would, he was a gifted fighter in ways she couldn't begin to imagine—but it had been enough to suppress the power imbalance.

She wasn't the prey anymore. He wasn't the hunter anymore.

They were two fighters. Equals—or almost. Both armed with their wits and their wills. Both experienced in the use of nen.

Both aiming for each other's throats.

Sometimes the best defense was a fierce attack. One that sent the clear message that he was risking his life as much as she was.

The man grew exasperated by her sudden gain of confidence. He threw the bubble of smoke toward her. She didn't think when she swept her hand in the air, painting a transparent blue screen that deflected the bubble. She didn't think either when she did that again, and again, using Sae like she never had, with vigor and calm and almost pleasure at this suddenly found ability—until he tired and took his gun out of its holster.

Hana resisted the urge to smile. A gun was something she could deal with. He would shoot, and she would dodge. He would aim, and she would duck. Occasionally, he would try to launch a new bubble at her—always smaller, lacking in the terror it used to adorn. And every time he did, she would do the same gesture—a swipe, and a blue screen would stop the bubble.

She had a counter to all his attacks.

And he was losing patience.

* * *

It worked until it didn't anymore.

She didn't feel the second it all switched. The moment the balance tipped back in his favor again.

Or at least, she didn't feel it come.

Because she definitely felt it _happen_.

He had feinted. She had fallen for it.

She had flanked him. He had caught her.

He violently kicked her in the stomach. She flew back, the air knocked out of her lungs, and hit the ground with a brutal thud. She held her sides as she doubled over. Her mouth tasted like copper.

A split second later, he had hurled her body up, slammed her against the wall, thrown her gun away, and tightened his hand around her neck in a steel grip. Her stomach was still screaming in pain, her legs so weak they barely supported her, and blood trickled through her mouth, her scalp, her nape—sticky, wet, gross.

She gritted her teeth, gasping for air. Her head pulsed with a radiating pain—as though her skull would explode. It spread through the back of her head, delving into her stiff neck.

Without thinking, she threw her fist at him—he caught it midair. Her other hand scratched at his arm, her nails digging in his skin until blood trickled from it.

The man groaned, pulled her toward him, then slammed her body against the wall once more. He hoisted her body up, his hand still tight around her throat, watching her choke and sputter with complete and utter disinterest. It was only when stars danced in her glassy eyes that he let her down and released slightly his hold on her throat, letting her gulp the precious air. Why he had changed his mind, why he had decided to spare her life just then, she didn't know. But she would make him regret.

His eyes narrowed—Hana could almost feel his smirk. Anger simmered in the back of her head—it pulsed along the pain.

"It was quite a show you made here. I didn't expect that."

She didn't reply. Instead, she mustered as much disdain as her hazy mind could produce in her gaze.

He simply laughed. His face, guarded by his mask of smoke, was unreadable to her. But his eyes were laughing, too.

The asshole was mocking her.

"Not so proud without your boyfriend to save you, hm?" he whispered, his spectral voice brushing her as it escaped the grave of smoke. His gaze was fraught with arrogance—the arrogance of a man who thought he had subdued her, a man who was certain he had won the fight.

That arrogance would be his downfall.

She conjured her other gun in her free hand. Aimed for his side—a soft spot next to the stomach. "I don't fucking need saving."

She pulled the trigger.

The man grunted in pain—then doubled over as she kicked him full force between his legs, slipping away from his grasp. She rolled on the floor, grabbing her gun, and pushed her body to stand and run… only to fall headfirst on the ground.

 _Oof!_

Hana raised herself on her elbow, wriggling out of the man's hands. The bastard had caught her ankles, and though he was bleeding and quivering, he was far from weak. So she kicked him on the head—once, twice, watching her foot eerily enter the mask and escape it unscathed. She kicked harder when he stopped covering his wound to throw a smoke bubble across the room—but this time, it was different. By reflex, she closed her eyes and stopped breathing as the bubble turned to a black fog—the same one he had thrown over the HCDS ballroom. Without any sense to guide her, she launched her En through the room, using it to map the area. And her opponent.

He was tiring, but he wasn't giving up. He wrestled with her until her lungs screamed for air, rolling with her on the blood—covering her with his blood. But she didn't feel his breath on her—which meant one thing: he couldn't breathe his own curse either.

And he had been shot.

Her confidence renewed, Hana landed a punch on the man's right cheek, then, again, as he gathered himself, she kneed him in the groin—and almost winced in pain at the deafened sound he made. As he lost his balance, she pushed him away, sat up, and used her leg to kick him away from her.

She was about to stand when she heard a gun cocked toward her. Had she been in a good shape, it would have been no trouble to dodge it. But in the darkness, with her senses still askew after being strangled, kicked, punched, drained of her nen, and repeatedly attacked by this dangerous man, Hana's reflexes were not to be trusted.

It was a matter of a split second—perhaps one more second of oxygen in her system—and she could have dodged it.

But time was a scarce resource. She didn't have that split second.

And now, she had a bullet in her body.

* * *

 **1:28 A.M.**

The meeting with Arashi had ended way too late for Killua's liking. Being anxious for no reason was tiring enough, but being anxious for no reason around a bunch of people who could neither feel it nor help him? Absolute hell.

At least with the cold air in his lungs, he could think more clearly. Hana was still in his thoughts—and his panicked thoughts were still harassing him—but at least he could stop pretending. That was not a luxury he could have afforded in Arashi's office, spacious as it may be.

He looked quietly at the sky, wondering what Hana was doing. A part of him was still imagining the worst—the foreboding, the bad omen, the scavengers waiting for an instant of weakness to lunge at him with their bloody thoughts. But he tried—he really did—to imagine her sauntering home after a successful mission, staring at the same sky he was staring at, already thinking of the lyrics to the hymn she'd write to her own greatness.

After all, the Soledad was bright that night.

His phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. His heart hiccupped when he saw the caller, and he picked it up. He wasn't sure whether the pressure in his heart was anxiety or relief. "Hana? What's up? You done?"

On the other side, he heard nothing. Then, a sound. Slow, weak. Breathing. "Hey…"

His heart stopped. He froze. Listened to the way she was breathing—weakly, heavily, like something was crushing her 'chest.

And all hell broke loose in his head. "Hana, what's wrong? Where are you?"

"I… might have gotten in trouble," she managed, though her voice was light, exhausted. "I got shot."

Panic seized him. His throat, his chest, his stomach. It filled him with toxic fear. It possessed him. It owned him. That anxiety he had been through the entire evening—it was a shadow next to the terror gripping him. That terror had a feel to it, a presence to it. It squeezed his heart shut, wrung his mind out of its clarity—until all that was left of him was a numb autopilot. "I'm coming to find you. Where are you?" he asked as he examined his surroundings; he was on the same lone road they had taken to come to Arashi's place. There were no cars—he could travel through the entire city in a few minutes with Godspeed. Wherever she was, he could get to her.

 _Hang on, Hana._

She coughed. "Small forest near the morgue… I couldn't go farther. He might still be there."

He summoned Godspeed, letting the electricity flow through him. "I won't let him touch you," he said. His voice growled, a blade grating against stone. "I'm coming. Don't move. I'll be there soon." Then, softly: "Okay?"

She exhaled, the sound enhanced by the phone. "I love you, Killua."

He shut his eyes closed. "Wait for me."

He started running. The wind slapped his face and lightning cracked all around him, but he heard none of it, felt none of it.

All he could feel was pain.

* * *

There were only three things Killua could think about at this moment.

First, Hana was wounded, and he had to help her.

Second, he was scared shitless and wasn't sure how his body was still moving.

Third, he needed Leorio's help.

Killua was already tending to the first thought. It was currently his number one priority, above breathing or even feeling.

For the second thought, well, he would do with it. He swallowed the fear, and he endured it. He knew what the toll would be—the crushing exhaustion, the desperation, the delayed grief that would flood him. He knew he would probably break down when it was all over. Until then, he could do with it.

Now, between the two minutes that separated him from the morgue, Killua had time to tend to the third thought.

He had already composed Leorio's number.

"Killua?"

Killua sighed of relief. Only a few seconds had passed, but they felt like centuries. "Leorio, I need your help," he immediately said, not bothering to hide the desperation in his voice. Leorio would hear it anyway—it was no use trying to mask it.

The atmosphere shifted around Leorio. Though Killua didn't see him, he felt it. "Where? What do I bring?"

"Hana's place. She was shot."

"Gotcha. I'll be there in five minutes."

Leorio hung up. Killua slipped his phone into his pocket, a huge weight already lifted off his shoulders. Hana would survive if he managed to bring her in time to Leorio. Killua was sure of that.

After one last jump across the forking streets of a narrow, silent neighborhood called the Styx—a fitting name—, Killua finally saw the morgue away from the cozy little houses. He rushed toward the small forest behind it, praying that whoever had shot Hana wasn't in the vicinity. Once he was there, he projected his En as far around him as he could to localize Hana. She couldn't have gone too far while wounded—but he had to be fast, find her before any potential pursuer.

Surprisingly, he only felt a presence—and only one— after delving deep into the small forest. It was weak—fading. Again, that same pang of both reassurance and fear struck him. He dashed toward the presence, snapping branches on his way and burning the grass with his lightning.

And he found her.

At that moment, Killua thought he _would_ break down. She was lying on the grass, her back against the trunk of a tree. One of her hands was on the floor, fingers still holding her phone. The other was clasped on her bleeding wound.

"Hana," he whispered, falling to his knees, checking her breathing and her body temperature—she was cold but alive. He was no doctor but he knew that her life wasn't endangered—not if he brought her soon enough to Leorio to have that gun wound treated. What worried him more was the accumulation of what she had lived—it showed in her pained frown, panting breath, pale face.

She slowly opened her eyes—and, through her pain that he knew had to be awful, she smiled. No other sight in the world could both tear him apart and soothe him at once. "Hello," she murmured. "You come here often, handsome?"

"Hopefully not," he breathed. Without waiting, he gently slipped his right arm beneath her knees, supporting her back with the left one, and he lifted her off the floor. "I'll take you to Leorio, okay? He'll know what to do."

"Okay."

Lightning shrieked once again around his feet. He dashed away from the little forest with her in his arms, holding on to her weight in his arms as he would to a buoy.

As though she felt it, she lay a hand on his chest, stroking it slowly. "I'll be fine. I stopped it before it punctured my stomach."

"Did you?"

"Mhm. I'm a strong mama. When I saw him shoot, I fortified my abs with nen," she weakly explained. "I don't think death would want me anyway. I'm too fabulous for her."

He found the strength to smile. "You're right. Besides," he tightened his grip on her, "she'll take you over my dead body. I promise you."

She chuckled. "No death tonight. I'll survive. No big deal."

He pursed his lips, speechless. "You were shot," he said between two jumps on the branches. " _Yes_ big deal."

It took her a moment to reply—a dreadful moment during which he frantically checked her eyes weren't vacant. "It hurts like a bitch. But I'm just exhausted. Because of everything that happened before."

"Everything?"

This time, she did fall silent for good. He felt her breath against his neck—feverish and hot, sometimes irregular—and though he feared for her wellbeing, it was enough reassurance to keep going.

She was alive. She was breathing against him and gripping his shirt.

He would hold on to that thought, no matter the voice that poisoned his mind.

Hana was alive.

* * *

 **1:49 A.M.**

In all their years of friendship, there was one thing that Killua and Leorio had realized: they could always count on each other. Whenever one of them needed something, they could always be sure the other would do whatever he could to help.

It was in moments like these that Killua was thankful for that unconditional trust they had in each other. Because it was also in moments like these that he didn't trust himself the most—his decisions, his thoughts, his actions; they were all tampered by his fear, and if there was one thing Killua hated, it was to lose control over himself.

That was why, when he saw Leorio standing in front of the door of his apartment, for the first time since Hana had called him, Killua felt like he was breathing again.

Leorio reacted quick. "Tell me everything," he demanded as Killua carried Hana in the room. He lay down sanitary towels on the bed, then placed a chair near the bed and put his mallet on it.

Meanwhile, Killua gently let Hana down on the bed. "She had a mission to complete. She was struck by someone-most likely our enemy. He shot her—once. But I think she used a lot of nen during her fight—and took a lot of blows."

Leorio quietly nodded, taking the necessary equipment out of his briefcase. "I'll examine her," he said, slipping latex gloves on his hands after wearing his white coat. He gestured for Killua to move aside with a little wave of his hand, focusing on his work.

First, Leorio checked her breathing. "She's not hyperventilating, so there's that," he said to Killua. "She's breathing a little fast but that's due to the pain. Can't blame her for that." He took a pair of scissors and cut through Hana's top, starting from the bottom to the top. Then, he got rid of the textile, freeing the wound.

A little transparent bag fell from a hidden pocket in her shirt as Leorio removed her top. He took it between two fingers, eyeing the little jewel inside it. "Take that," he asked Killua. " _That's_ probably why she took a gunshot."

A thought flashed in Killua's mind: that was the jewel found in Eugene's stomach. Hana had succeeded—but at what cost. He took the bag and threw it into the first drawer he found, rushing back to Leorio's side. "How's her wound?"

Leorio frowned at the sight, brushing the gun wound with his thumb. "It's superficial. Bloody as hell, but not dangerous. I'll still check for internal bleeding—I don't think she has any punctured organ, but it's better to check. You still with me?"

Killua nodded weakly. "What if she needs an IV? Did you bring one?" he asked, his voice so calm it sounded nothing like him, nothing like the turmoil in his head.

"That doesn't make much sense. Let me first assess her state," Leorio answered, projecting his nen through her and focusing on the response. He lay one hand flat on her abdomen and the other tapping the first, sending his aura in small but precise waves in her body. "Okay, no punctured organ. She has a few broken ribs but that's manageable. No internal bleeding either."

"What about the blood loss? Leorio, she's still losing blood, she—"

"I can see that as much as you do," Leorio interrupted, his voice precise and certain. "Now, you let me do my job or else I throw you out. _I'm_ the doctor."

Killua shut his mouth, nodding in resignation. He was boiling to ask Leorio what he was seeing, what his doctor eyes saw that Killua didn't see. Because all Killua saw was blood oozing from her wound, rivulets and rivulets, and his own pale reflection in the mirror.

He did ask himself how it had all happened. How a day that had started with waffles and jam had ended in blood and gunshots. Mostly, he asked himself why he hadn't listened to the disquiet in himself, why he had let her go alone, why he hadn't even envisaged that their enemies had the same privileges Lynd did within the police. Had he dropped his guard? Had he been too reckless? Could he have prevented it?

What if the smoke man had won?

His jaw clenched. His chest tightened. He balled his fist, his nails digging into his palms. Pricks of pain shot through him—and he wanted to feel it. He wanted it to obscure the dark thoughts that swallowed him. He wanted to feel anything but this void in himself—this guilt, this uncertainty, this misery in knowing the girl he loved could have died that night the same way many had before her. Charred to the bone, a smoking mess of burnt limbs and decrepit skin. A lifeless corpse.

She could have been that.

She could have died.

Panic submerged Killua. It welled up in his throat, suffocating him. Pictures of Gon's charred hand, so small and bony in his own, resurfaced from the abyss where he had buried them. For a moment, he was plunged back in that time—useless, helpless, unable to help a dying friend.

For a moment, he was fourteen again.

"She'll be fine."

Leorio's voice, deep and quiet, dispersed the black clouds in his head. Killua rose timid eyes toward the young doctor, staring at his sharp profile. "She will?"

"She will. Whatever she did to stop the bullet, it worked. She didn't lose enough blood to require an IV—she was probably just exhausted from her fight and the blood loss was the last straw she could take—that's why she fainted. But she'll be fine. Let me take care of her, remove the bullet and clean the wound, and she'll be safe from any infection." He gently wiped the blood, then took clean pliers and removed the bullet like it was nothing. He dropped it on a metallic plate, the clattering echoing in Killua's foggy head.

Then, he started cleaning the wound, slowly, patiently. With expert movements, he disinfected it and covered it with layers of clean, thin white gauze. "She'll need to minimize movements and stay in bed for a few days," Leorio announced. "I'm not quite sure what's her healing rate—it varies from one person to another depending on their nen. But judging from what I've seen and what my nen found, I think a nen therapy would work well for her. Within two weeks, she'll be back on feet."

"Two weeks?" Killua repeated with hope. "That little?"

"I might be overestimating the time," Leorio corrected. "Nen therapies speed boost healing rates, so it's hard to tell how fast she'd recover, but it seems to me that she'll be fast enough. Maybe not as fast as your monster body, but much, _much_ faster than the average patient." He smirked. "Perks of being a nen user, hm?"

A little smile brushed Killua's lips—the first in that mad night. And though Killua could barely think of anything else but Hana's safety, Leorio's calm was like a cold breeze on a sore burn. He who had been melting with panic just a few minutes ago was now breathing again, and though the anxiety still prowled, the burden on his shoulders had lifted.

So, Killua listened quietly to Leorio describing his work. He didn't say a word, but he let Leorio's voice soothe him, working on his breathing until it was regular again, like Leorio had taught him. "Hold on to my voice," Leorio had once told him after a bad panic attack. "Listen to me. Breathe. Breathe with me, come on."

And just like in the past, Killua breathed along Leorio's words, watching his hands work and his eyes focus.

In a way, Killua wondered who Leorio had really healed that night.

* * *

 **A/N:** You guys ought to read the Winner's Curse, by Marie Rutkoski, it's amazing. That being said, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Tell me about your thoughts, I'd be glad to hear them.

Now 2018 is the year to read more, catch up on my favorite fics, and write, and learn how to play Widowmaker. It'll happen, eventually.

Until next time, have a great holiday!


	38. Sleeping Beauty

**A/N** : Hi there! Two months after Poisoned Amaryllis turned two years old, I'm back :D

To be fair with you, that chapter was written back in January or February I think, but I just didn't have time to 1. Coordinate it with the latest/future chapters and 2. Properly edit it to publish it. The reason why is just because I'm basically doing an internship at the moment soooo free time is a scarce resource.

… That and also I love Overwatch. I just found out that healing five people and murdering tanks with a pea gun is fun. Sooo I do that a lot :D

But I'm finally on vacation so that gives me time to write/publish stuff! And fuck up my sleep schedule too hahahaha.

Anyway, don't mind me. I'm sorry for the long delay, and a warm thank you to all those still reading this and encouraging me to keep writing.

Also, the lovely **liam . airin** (without the spaces) is currently translating Poisoned Amaryllis to Spanish for those interested! The story is called **Amarilis Envenenada** in Spanish so for anyone who wants to read the fic in Spanish and support, feel free to go show the lovely translator some love! (You can find the story in my favorite stories too)

Now without any further ado, feel free to dig in!

* * *

Replies to Guest reviews:

 **KitKat** : Thank you so much for your review! I'm really glad you liked the chapter, and the fact that the fighting scene was your favorite really makes me happy! I'm always a bit worried about how I write action scenes so it's a relief you liked the scene :3 And thank you so much for your support ;A; *hugs*

 **Kiki** : Here goes, the update you wished for ;D I hope you'll like this chapter!

* * *

Chapter 37: **Sleeping Beauty**

* * *

He stumbled on his own feet, crashing into the door with a brutal shock. Through the haze of his pain, he haphazardly reached for the doorknob, rattling it with a quivering hand until it gave away.

And then, he fell.

His heart hung in his chest for a terrifying second. He forgot who he was, why he existed, who he had dedicated his life to. All of it, gone.

He came to his sense when someone caught him. Flinching under his weight, but holding it nonetheless.

"Malzi?!" the individual started. The voice, _Erik's_ voice, startled Malzi out of his dizziness. "Malzi, what the hell happened?" Erik demanded as he lay down Malzi's body on the floor.

In the dim light, Malzi saw the soft cerulean eyes scrutinizing him. "Call a medic," he said through gritted teeth.

"Don't bleed on my carpet," Erik hissed as he hurried to his phone, calmly asking for a medic to his team. Meanwhile, Malzi pressed the fabric he had torn from his shirt on his wound, the gunshot this fury of a girl had inflicted him. Anger pulsed in his vein at the thought of her. It pounded in his head. He thought of her neck between his fingers, so thin and delicate. He could have snapped it in a simple twist of his wrist, and she would have been gone.

But he hadn't.

Because of his own plans. His own _doubts_.

And that serpent had fucking shot him.

He clenched his fist, nails digging in his palms. His eyes never left the red mess near his stomach, the bloodied fabric stopping the hemorrhage. Wrath boiled in every fiber of his being—he felt its fire in his head and its frost in his core.

She had _dared_. And now he was fucking bleeding in his friend's office. Now he had to concoct a sweet little lie to justify his absence from his daily responsibilities. Now he had to stall their own secret mission to recover.

All because of one girl.

The medic arrived shortly enough. She worked fast, never once asking why her patient was bleeding on her boss's carpet, or how he had gotten shot, or why he smelled like nothing a living person should smell like. He appreciated her discretion. Her nimble, dexterous fingers were a cold press on his sore anger.

It allowed him to think better. To focus.

And to realize the real reason he was angry wasn't the wound, or the fight, or the failure, or even the girl herself.

It was to watch her take what was rightfully his.

* * *

 **Sunday, June 7th**

 **10:02 A.M.**

Being bedridden was never fun.

But being bedridden while some smoke-obsessed human hazard _she had shot_ roamed free, with freshly dug hints from the depths of a corpse's stomach, new allies more than willing to wreak havoc, and an almost-boyfriend so worried sick he had spent three days by her side admonishing her for the slightest movement… yeah, definitely no fun.

"At least let me work on something…"

Killua flipped through the documents in the binder he was holding, not sparing her a glance. "Did you know Erik owned one of the ice-cream shops in the center town? The guy's got a sweet tooth."

Hana pouted, sighing deliberately loud to make a point. "I'm boreeeed. I wanna work on something," she demanded, as a toddler would demand sweets in the candy aisle of a supermarket

Killua finally looked at her. He closed the binder. And just like the parent of the said toddler, he remained strict. "Hana, you were shot. You need to rest."

"My body can rest while my brain works," she argued.

"You need your energy to recover."

"But—"

"I'm gonna call Leorio if you keep insisting."

She shuddered at the mere thought. Leorio, for all his good-mannered jokes and his cheery mood, was one hell of a determined man. She vaguely remembered him ordering Killua to calm down through her half-consciousness, but she distinctly remembered Killua _effectively_ shutting up after that. Leorio could do _that_.

She didn't want Leorio to scold her for doing what she knew was careless. Because she most definitely needed the rest. Every slight movement hurt like a bitch and she could barely sit in a decent position without cursing this smoke asshole and all his ancestors for putting her in that state. The one good thing that came out of these three days was learning how colorful her vocabulary could be.

So, with nothing more to argue and nothing reasonable to say, she kept sulking.

Killua looked at her for a moment, then he stood up and moved his chair near her bed. "I'm here."

The words, simple as they were, did their magic. She stopped sulking—but didn't look at him, she still had a point to make.

"Never knew resting would be so hard," she sighed, resigning herself. She wriggled on the bed, wincing in pain as she searched for a more comfortable position. The wound pulsed on her abdomen, screaming with every effort. Sometimes it made her head turn.

Killua put the binder on the bedside table and jumped to his feet to help her. Then, before sitting back, he brushed her hair away from her forehead. "I know the feeling. Remember when I inhaled his smoke and you forbade me from work for an entire day?"

"..."

"Yeah, exactly. And I cooperated."

" _Fine_. But what you had was worse than what I have."

"That's debatable."

"No, it's not. I've been shot before; this isn't a foreign pain."

He cocked an eyebrow. "I nearly died before. More than once. For sure it didn't make the curse easier on me."

She frowned, rummaging through her brain to find any half-decent excuse to convince Killua. "I stopped the bullet with my _abs_ ," she insisted—forgoing the mention of the nen fortifying her abdomen. Any nen user knew how to fortify their muscles to minimize damage—but perhaps if she didn't mention it, Killua would forget this basic fact and realize how badass she was and let her work… right? "Someone who can do that can probably also handle a little brain-storming, right?"

"The only thing you achieved by doing that was freaking out Leorio."

"And, well, stopping the bullet, no?" she insisted.

"Sure. But that's irrelevant, right?" he said, looking at her pointedly.

And she started sulking again. She turned her head away from Killua's amused gaze, puffing her cheeks and furrowing her brows. Which probably didn't make her look very intimidating, but that was only a small detail.

Minutes passed, during which she silently waited for Killua to tease her, or yield, or say anything. But he seemed happy with the newfound silence—and mostly with her unspoken resilience—so Hana eyed him from the corner of her eyes, her pout morphing into boredom. She narrowed her eyes. "What if I manage to convince Leorio, then?"

Killua blinked, then burst out laughing. "I'd like to see you try," he said when his laughter faded. His expression was pure, unabashed victory. "You think you can convince Leorio if you didn't convince _me_?"

Hana puffed her cheeks. "I think I can! I'm _sure_ I can!"

"Wow, such confidence," Killua teased, bending down to her level. "Let's make this a bet. If I win and Leorio doesn't let you work, you're getting uninterrupted rest for one more week. How does that sound?"

She shuddered at the thought. For sure Killua would make her stay in bed and rest while Smokey pranced in the city collecting souls like those little kids on a Halloween night who went trick-or-treating. "Fine. But if I win, I get to work on the case whether you want it or not. _And_ you're baking me a cake."

Killua cocked an eyebrow. "That's random." He then smirked, eyeing her with what almost felt like a victory. "How about I bake that cake anyway? To celebrate you spending one more week _resting_. Without _any work_."

She resisted the urge to grin. "We'll see about _that_. I will feast on your loss, Killua Zoaldyeck."

He gave her his hand. "Deal?"

She took it. "Deal. Let Leorio decide our fates."

* * *

"Work? From bed? Sure. As long as you don't gesticulate you're fine to work now."

Killua had lost. He had lost so miserably he could barely form a sentence. "You—you're letting her work?"

"Yeah, the wound's healing well. It's safe to do some work, as long as you eat and sleep at a correct pace." He glanced at Killua. "I'm counting on you to make sure she doesn't skip meals and stay up too late. Also, keep the work to a minimum."

Killua opened his mouth, then closed it and glared at Hana—who wasn't done grinning. "Don't you think it's still too early? She needs to rest. To do things like… like _not_ working."

"Who's the doctor here, Killua?" Leorio simply asked, never looking away from Hana's wound.

"Yeah, who's the doctor here?" Hana repeated, still sporting that insufferable smile.

Leorio didn't comment further. Instead, he examined Hana's abdomen. "You're healing at a monster pace. Either I'm a genius doctor or your body's a freak. I lean more toward the first option."

Hana flashed a victorious smile toward Killua before turning back to Leorio. "The nen therapies you prescribed me help a lot," she admitted. "I had no idea nen could be used like that."

Leorio fished in his briefcase for gauze and wetted it with physiological saline. "Nen has always had regenerative properties. Nen healers just grasp these natural properties and enhance them." He dabbed the wound with the gauze. Hana winced slightly. "Most people are unaware that using nen actually accelerates their healing rates. I'm just exploiting that. Powerful nen users heal at incredible speed when they know how to use their aura. They can live up to three times the maximum life expectancy thanks to that."

"You seem well-versed in nen-healing," Hana noted.

"I _am_ doing a Ph.D. in it. The regenerative properties of nen and how to use them to speed the healing process and slow aging."

"That sounds interesting," she genuinely said. "A pity most people won't be able to use it."

Leorio chuckled. "They won't, but I will. The Ph.D. is mainly an excuse to use the Hunter Association resources for my research. If it works, it could revolutionize the way I work. And the way a lot of doctors who know nen work."

It was about time Killua swallowed his loss, so he resigned and sat next to Hana. "As in, you'd depend less on medical facilities and more on your own nen, right?"

"Exactly. Medical advances are amazing, but they're also costly. Not everyone can afford a million jennies to treat cancer." Leorio's face darkened, if only for a split second. In his eyes, Killua saw the shadow of his friend, Pietro. Victim of a filthy system that ground lives and pains into money.

Pietro had died from that system.

"I heard Cheadle Yorkshire was interested in your work," Killua changed the topic.

"She is. She's the one who supported my project to give me the funds for it," Leorio proudly said. He chuckled, as though he remembered something. "Maya was so stoked when Cheadle contacted me, I thought she was gonna faint. She has a lot of esteem for President Cheadle."

"Maya is a nerd. Tell her I said that," Killua joked.

"She'll whack your head."

"If she can reach it, sure."

Hana snorted, then winced in pain. "Fuck. I shouldn't laugh." She looked vaguely at her abdomen as Leorio covered it with gauze. "Say, how is Maya? I mean, regarding…"

"The Whisper?" Leorio asked, briefly meeting her gaze.

She nodded. Killua didn't imagine the guilt that flashed in her eyes.

"Maya's fine. The Whisper's case isn't _exaaactly_ going anywhere but, she'll live. She does miss Maes though."

"They haven't found anything new?" Killua asked with disbelief, checking if Hana was okay before looking at Leorio.

Leorio frowned. "Nothing. No trace of him. They don't call him the Whisper for nothing."

"There's no news of him either," Hana added.

"Yeah, no more kills. It's been, what, three weeks? Since the last time we heard about him? Nightowl is still composing a team; Maya heard he should soon decide."

"Is there really the need for an entire team to hunt him down?"

Hana spoke as Leorio couldn't reply. "He's powerful. It's unsure how many people he can curse at the same time, but the experience shows he can take down a team, all by himself."

And with the newfound knowledge that he could turn a selected few into puppets to further his curse… "Yeah. They do need a team."

Leorio didn't say more. He finished patching up Hana's wound, then stood up. "I'll come back in two days to see how the wound evolves. If it all goes well, you should be able to stand for longer periods of time then."

Hana brushed with the top of her finger the white gauze on her abdomen. Then, she grinned at Leorio. "Thank you. You're amazing."

He rubbed his nape, laughing pleasantly. "Well, thanks." He patted Killua's shoulder then as they walked away from the room. "Take care of her. Next time, I'll show you how to cover the wound yourself; she should have healed enough by then, she won't need me anymore."

Killua sighed. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Leorio just shook his head. "Just be glad I'm here."

The smile Killua gave him was nothing short of affection. "I am."

* * *

 **3:58 P.M.**

"So, this is the folder Mulgrad was so proud to have sold to Arashi?"

Hana skimmed through the binder Killua had been working on, her eyes glossing over the kind of information she could have easily hacked from the Hunter Website.

Killua's head perked up at her voiced disdain. "Yep. I guess he thought it important to know Faem owns three candy shops in the city."

She snorted. "If anything, it shows Faem's prudence. He even controls what people know of him."

Killua sat on the chair next to her. "I wonder if Faem did it on purpose. Perhaps he baited Mulgrad with supposedly private info in hope of finding who was on his tail."

She rose her eyes from a dubious article about Faem's cement works industry. "You think Faem knows about Scylla?"

"I don't think he knows who Scylla is. He probably gives crumbs to all his associates, to earn their trust and test their allegiance. I do think he suspects someone to be on his ass though. At the ball, he wanted to know who had hired me. Arashi's an obvious guess, hence the spies at her mansion, but I doubt he knows the extent of her power—or how deep into this case she is."

"And even less the betrayal of one of his own," she mused, thinking of Penelope.

Hana put the binder on the nightstand. "Did you take a look at the bracelet?" she asked, shifting in her bed. She noticed his blue gaze following her movements. Worry hid in the curve of his mouth. "I'm fine," she assured.

He faintly nodded. He opened a drawer in her nightstand and took the transparent bag containing the little jewel. "I haven't worked on it yet."

"Really? Why?"

Again, he simply looked at her. With a little flutter in her chest, she realized he had been waiting for her. "Did you communicate with Arashi?" she added.

"Very quickly. I told them you retrieved the bracelet, but that you had been wounded."

"I hope I'm not slowing you down," she expressed. "You don't have to wait for me to recover to work on the case."

But Killua poked her nose. "You didn't slow anyone down. You got us the hint and weakened the enemy. He's in the same position you're in right now. If anything you two just stalled the action for a small… interlude. It gives us some time to investigate—and catch our breath."

Hana awkwardly chuckled. "I'm not sure it's an interlude. I'm pretty sure I pissed Smokey off twice as much."

An eyebrow quirked up. "Hana, what exactly happened there?"

Hana recounted the events of the night in details, from the search in the examination room to the fight in the reception room. She talked about her fear clawing at her heart, then the moment she realized how strong she could be, would she will herself to believe it.

Of course, there were also other details worth telling…

Killua listened to her with a curious expression. It shifted sometimes from his casual demeanor to a wince or a small quirk of his lips.

"So basically, you survived because you punched him in the dick. Repeatedly. With all your force."

She showed a toothy grin. "Kicked, please."

Killua visibly shuddered. "You're a horrifying opponent, Hana. Remind me to not ever get on your bad side."

She laughed and winced at the same time. "When in doubt, kick your enemy's dick."

"Sounds wise." He leaned in his chair, watching her with a little bit of wonder. "You kicked Smokey in the dick, shot him, deflected his attacks, and frustrated him so much he had to endanger himself to get to you. You did that."

Hana blushed a little. "I did that."

For a moment, Killua said nothing. He just looked at her with that undecipherable expression, his arms crossed and his legs extended in front of him.

Then, he smiled. A smile overflowing with pride. "Now _that's_ my girl. I'm so fucking proud of you."

She flushed, but instead of hiding her face in her hands and squealing like she wanted to do, she gave her lips to him, puckering them in an almost comical manner.

And of course, he answered. He lay one soft, lingering kiss on her lips. "I'm gonna call you the dick-puncher from now on."

"The dick-stroyer," she corrected. "Tattoo it on my forehead. I'll make it my official name eventually."

He chortled, the mirth on his face pure honey to her. "So classy, Hana." Then his features hardened. "I don't know for sure if Smokey figured out your identity, but we can be sure he'll draw the link to my last unknown ally. It's best to assume he knows who you are, now."

She looked at her hands, folded neatly on her stomach. They were riddled with bruises and little scars. "I can't tell for sure. It was dark." She crossed his gaze. "I'm more worried about why he kept me alive."

"Didn't he shoot you?"

"I feel like he could have aimed for my vitals." She frowned. "He tried to choke me at some point, then let me breathe. I could feel he was stronger than me—he had so many opportunities to kill me. Maybe not with a bullet, but as much as I tried to keep physical contacts to a minimum, he could have used the Bite on me." She shivered at the thought. She remembered David's writhing form, the crawling noise texture slashing across his chest.

"Maybe he thought he could play before killing you," Killua said, although he didn't sound like he believed it himself. "Or…"

She inquired his gaze. Something heavy sat in there, heavy like a premonition. One that he clearly didn't like. "Or?"

"Or he knows."

Hana pursed her lips. "About my so-called gift."

"It _is_ your gift. And though your ability is raw and unstable, it's an asset. I could imagine him keeping you alive to exploit your ability in the future—if he knows."

She toyed with the hem of her sheets. "That would either mean he dug into my past or saw me at the party talking to David."

"Most likely the second option—if he knew before, he'd have approached you in some way." He rested his forearms on his thighs. "Then again, I might be wrong."

"It makes sense though. If he wanted me dead, I would be so."

Killua shrugged. "You're tougher than you give yourself credit for. You probably can't beat him in a fair fight, but you do have your chances of escaping. That's what you did."

Hana offered a little smile. " _You_ give me too much credit."

He pinched her cheek. "You don't give yourself enough."

She was tempted to stick her tongue out, but she decided against all expectations to remain a mature adult. "By the way, did you keep the clothes I wore the night I was shot?" Hana changed the topic.

"I kept them in a trash bag. What about them?"

"I think Smokey bled on me. Is there any way we could extract his DNA or something?"

Killua frowned. "Maybe, but I'm not sure it'll give any result. It's worth trying though."

"Lynd could tell us about a trustworthy DNA profiling scientist. We'd need to be careful but if there's any hint about Smokey we could gather, I'm all for taking it."

"Sounds fair," Killua agreed.

"I also found new things about Smokey's ability. Or at least, deduced them," she added.

"I'm all ears."

She gathered the memories, rewinding them in her mind. "First, he's not immune to his own curse. You know the toxic fog he launched in the ballroom?" As Killua acquiesced, she went on: "he can't breathe it either."

"Wait." Killua got up, exited the bedroom, and came back with Hana's laptop. "Let's recap, shall we?"

And so they did. They wrote down the different nuances of the smoke man's abilities. She would speak, and he would type, fingers flying on the keyboard. They gave the abilities little names. They created their own little glossary until all was clear to them.

 _ **The Bite.**_ _A direct attack and lethal nen curse, with little hopes of survival unless one has a pocket exorcist. It takes ninety seconds to kill—ninety seconds of pure agony. Once dead, the victim's body burns into itself and emanates toxic smoke that once inhaled can kill in return._

 _ **The Fog.**_ _A little bubble of smoke cast in an area and exploding into a black fog. Inhaling it is extremely dangerous; depending on the time of exposition and the quantity inhaled, it can be lethal. Once a certain threshold is reached, the victim dies the same way Bite victims do._

 _ **The Infection.**_ _A passive effect of the smoke man's abilities. Anyone dying from his curse becomes a vector of contamination._

 _ **The Oath**_ _. Swear it or you'll die. If the victim breaks their oath, they get bitten._

 _ **The Mask.**_ _A seemingly harmless ability used for glamour. And drama. Especially drama._

They smiled at their handiwork. "Add a little note below," Hana requested. "That he can be harmed by his own smoke if it's meant to be toxic."

Killua complied, quite happy with himself as he stared down the list of abilities. "He has quite the wide kit."

"It might not be all," she warned. "He's a powerful nen user; at least two of these abilities are minor or passive—the Mask and the Infection. They don't require the kind of work a new ability does. So I wouldn't be surprised if he had time to create one last ability. Perhaps not quite as strong, but there must be another one, completely different, that helps conceal his identity."

Killua tapped the pen on his nose. "For sure we'd have noticed if a man with those abilities was around. With its resources, the HCDS would have heard of it." He put the pen down. "Yeah, it'd make sense if he had an ability used for his… uh, day identity. Either that or he pretends to be a perfectly common person by day."

Hana considered the idea. "I don't know. He did break into the HCDS party, so he's either extremely rich or a hunter. And if he's a hunter, then he can potentially control what kind of info the HCDS knows of him. Edit the databases, burn archives, that kind of stuff."

"Smart. He has control over what's known of him." He turned around, the laptop still on his lap, and opened the drawer of her nightstand. He delicately took the little transparent bag, eyeing the golden jewel inside. "Now, this. You think it could be a potential hint about him? A unique one?"

Hana stared at the bracelet. It glistened in the light, the tiny chains sparkling like small fireflies strung together. When Killua moved the bracelet, the chains would pile together like water. "It's the kind of bracelet you fasten around a baby's wrist."

"What's written on it?" Killua asked as he squinted on the plate with the baby's name on it. "Ma—Malzi?"

"Yes." She frowned. "Now that I think of it, it's a Tanalean name."

He met her eyes. "You think it's Smokey's? That it's his bracelet?"

"It would explain why he personally went to take it instead of sending someone," she mused.

"But it doesn't explain why it was in Eugene's stomach," Killua half-joked. "We can't be sure of anything at this rate. If it's Smokey's, there's no reason for him to force-feed it to Eugene."

"Then it wasn't force-fed. Eugene ate it, perhaps to make himself sick."

"Or because he knew he'd die and kept the bracelet to hint on his murderer," Killua theorized. "Now as to how he had access to something supposedly important for Smokey…"

"Assuming Smokey and Malzi are the same person. And that Eugene had those intentions. And that no one noticed."

Killua sighed. "That's too many assumptions. So far, the most probable is that this thing belongs to Smokey, or perhaps Faem. We can't be sure about it ended in a corpse's stomach, we only know it was there and Smokey wants it." He paused. His eyes were lost in the screen in front of him, rereading the glossary they had made as though it held all the answers. "I guess we could try to research who Malzi is. It's a start. I doubt we'll find much, but we can't stay idle either. Since we can't exactly ask Eugene what happened."

An idea popped into Hana's mind. Luminous and risky, but worth it. "Elias could. He could read the aura in the bracelet and see the memories. If he's willing to help, it could be the key to our questions."

Killua's eyebrows furrowed. He was quiet for a moment, his eyes focused. "It could be. But it could be dangerous for him. I'll ask him if he's willing to help."

"Of course. I'll understand if he doesn't want to."

"I don't think he'll refuse," Killua said. "It's a step forward in his own investigation. Remember, El too has… things to find out, let's say. About Faem and his own parents."

"So you'll contact him?"

"Yeah, I'll text him. If he says yes, we'd have access to exclusive info."

Hana was about to reply when her phone emitted a little bell sound. She reached for it, and her eyes widened.

It was a message. From Kai.

 _I'm in Megamshill for some time. I've got something for you. Is it okay if we meet?_

She remembered then what she asked him. Information about poisonous amaryllises in Tanalea, and the clans that used them. It had been a painful task to rummage through masses of articles—only to find nothing. She had resorted to Kai, a gifted culture hunter—who happened to be her ex— to help her find where the serial killer she feared the most had taken inspiration.

Her jaw was set. Her lips pursed. Noticing her change in behavior, Killua turned toward her. "Everything okay?"

She started typing her answer. "Kai has something about the Whisper. He wants to see me."

Killua said no more, though he did nothing to hide the slight bitterness at the prospect of Kai meeting her. He made no comment of it either.

She pressed the send button, then set her phone aside.

She felt satisfied with herself as she reread her message.

'Hey there! I hope you had a nice trip. You can come to my place (same address). I'm not well today but perhaps in like, two days? Three? Tell me what suits you.'

His reply came fast. 'I'll be there on Wednesday. Rest up; I'll see ya.'

* * *

 **7:12 P.M.**

Elias took the little bag, turning it between his fingers to observe the baby-sized bracelet inside. It was made of fine gold, with thin chains linked to a tiny plate with a name carved on it. 'Malzi', it said.

"And you found that inside Eugene's stomach," he mumbled, his gaze going from Killua lazing on his chair to Hana still resting in her bed.

"To each their own," Killua deadpanned.

Elias snorted. "I mean, yeah. Totally not weird to find a baby bracelet in a corpse's stomach."

"We think it's a hint about Smokey," Hana said. "It's unsure whether it used to be his or whether it's unrelated."

"Also why did he have it on him at this moment," Killua added. He frowned. "And how it ended in Eugene's stomach."

"Yeah, that's a good one too," Elias mumbled, tilting the bag and watching the bracelet pour into one side of it. "I do get a… feel of it. Some remnants of aura."

"That's how I found it," Hana explained. "Are you sure you can do this though? If you feel it's too much, we'll find another way."

Elias weighed his chance at success against the strain it would cost him. He could feel the aura coating the bracelet, some of it years old, some of it fresh from a few months. "Hmm. I think it's gonna be a hard task but sounds fun to me. I'm in."

"Fun?" Killua repeated. "If we let any of the info you find slip away, it will eventually lead to you. You don't want them to know your secret."

But Elias brushed it off with a slight wave of his hand. "Meh. I've been using Time Seeker for years; it's like seeing the correction of an exercise before doing it. You just need to make it sound like you did the work yourself."

Hana grinned. "That's a nice way to put it. Once I know what I should find, I'll find some sources to blur the link to you."

"How thoughtful," Elias mused, a smile playing on his lips. "But don't worry too much about it. It's not _that_ obvious that you know someone who can read memories. It's not exactly common."

"Which also reduces the pool of possibilities," Killua argued. "We can't afford to be imprudent."

"And so we won't be." Elias leveled Killua's calculating gaze with his own. "Trust me, I know what I'm doing. Which isn't something I usually do, because I never know what the hell is going on, but… _that_? It's my thing."

A lopsided smile was all Killua gave for an answer.

So, with no more things to say, Elias proceeded. He conjured the locket in his right hand, held the bracelet in the other, and pushed his aura through both objects. His mind engulfed the tunnel of memories, traveling through uncertain pictures strung together in a jumbled mess.

With a slight wince, he willed himself to focus, his eyebrows dipping in a deep frown, his mouth pursing into a thin line.

He breathed.

The images bustling through his mind slowed. In the rapid flow of memories, he found a start. A sequence of words and colors and emotions and sounds, still raw and blurry, but palpable. He could practically touch it.

So he reached for it. He reached for the small memory, the first one he could grab in this sea of old wreckages buried by time.

And he hooked it.

* * *

 _The cell was dark. Damp. Small and uncomfortable. A mere closet with no window to the outer world. He was sorry he would die there. Alone. Surrounded by moss and rust and gunpowder. He longed for the sun, the smell of paint, the cherry blossoms in the crook of his wife's neck._

 _But none of that would happen. Those thoughts would be his last._

 _They weren't here for nothing._

 _They were here for him._

 _They were here because he knew too much._

 _He glanced through the bars, at them. Two mercenaries, looking down from their leader's cold stare. The Ghost, they called him. Clad in black, with a mask of wafting smoke covering his face. Couldn't even afford to reveal his face to his own men and a hostage who was as good as dead._

 _Eugene almost snorted. He didn't see a ghost; only an arrogant man,_ _murderer of his own brother_ _, greedy for the riches of others. A man who was afraid of his own identity, using deceit to cover it._

 _Just a single, puny man._

* * *

"— _nowhere to be found."_

 _The 'Ghost' narrowed his eyes. For Eugene, the sight was almost funny. A giant mass of black smoke with two narrowed blue slits poking out of it. It was out of place, so contrasting with his normal attire. It was just as though midway through his god complex, this man had gotten lazy with the smoke drama and had decided to wear a light jacket._

 _He almost cackled at his own joke. What a thrift-store villain disguise it was._

" _What do you mean you can't find it?" the thrift store ghost asked._

" _We searched the butler's body; there's no comb. Nothing, boss."_

 _Eugene resisted the urge to smirk._

" _And so what? Did the comb just fly out of his hands?" the ghost seethed. He eyed Eugene from the corner of his eyes as his men babbled incoherent answers. His gaze was wicked, scathing with hate._

 _Eugene was smirking._

 _And the ghost hated it._

* * *

" _Tell me," the ghost started, ambling into the tiny cell. He squatted to be at Eugene's level. Eugene never looked away, never left his gaze. "Who's the corpse upstairs? Is it really your butler's?"_

 _Eugene didn't reply._

 _The ghost swiftly took a hand out of his pocket and slammed it against Eugene's throat. Eugene felt something land on his hand as he gasped. Surprise and pain surged him, but he closed his hand on what had fallen from the ghost's pocket._

" _Your life isn't the only one at stake," the ghost murmured, his voice calm, otherworldly. He squeezed around Eugene's neck. "Think of your beautiful wife. I recall she sleeps with the window open. To smell the morning dew, she says, hm?"_

 _All Eugene gave as a reply were a splutter of nonsense, one of his hand pressing around the ghost's wrists until he let him breathe._

" _I'll ask again: whose corpse is upstairs?"_

 _Eugene caught on his breath. His fist was still pressed around the small object._

 _He looked the ghost in the eye. "Ask him yourself."_

 _The ghost struck Eugene with brutal force. It left Eugene with a ringing in his ears, a cheek burning with pain, and tears in his eyes._

 _Then, the ghost stood up and turned toward his men. "Inspect the corpse above. Search for any sign proving it's Leonardo. Birthmark, scar, anything."_

" _But sir," one of the men started. "Leonardo is one of us."_

" _Oh really," the ghost's voice dripped with sarcasm. "I must have lost my mind, then."_

 _While the ghost had his back to him, and the mercenaries scurried away to their own confusing task, Eugene glimpsed at the small object._

 _It was a chain bracelet._

 _Without thinking, he swallowed it._

 _When his corpse would be exhumed, they would cut him open. They would find it._

 _And they would know the truth._

* * *

"— _gone. He must have killed Leonardo during the brawl and glamour his corpse to look like his own. Finicky bastard." The Ghost let out an annoyed chuckle. He glanced at Eugene in his cell, disdain flashing through his piercing eyes. "Now, finish him. There's no use for him anymore."_

 _The task had been assigned to the youngest mercenary. Just a boy, seventeen at most. His hands trembled with the gun. His eyes looked anywhere but at Eugene._

 _Eugene couldn't pretend he wasn't scared. There were so many things left to do, so many things he wanted to discover. He wasn't all that young, but the world changed. He wished he could change with it, alongside Arashi._

 _He would miss her._

 _His heart leaped at the sight of the cold barrel, the trigger, the scent of gunpowder._

" _Aim here," he whispered, to the boy. He pointed to his forehead. "Make it fast for me, will you?"_

 _The boy quickly glanced behind him, at his leader whom he feared so much. Eugene wondered if the boy was more scared of what he had been asked to do, or who had asked him to do it._

" _Come on," he hissed, his hands shaking, his breath hitching, sweating beading on his forehead. "Please. Make it quick."_

 _The boy turned. "I'm sorry," he murmured._

 _Eugene closed his eyes. He thought of Aurora, her tired black eyes on her deathbed. Her little smile when she saw him weep. "Don't cry, papa," she had breathed._

 _He thought of life after death. He thought of the small church where they had cried his mother. Of the altar Arashi had dressed for their daughter. Of their faith, and their hands joined in prayer while they prayed to their respective gods._

 _He thought of his daughter._

 _The boy pulled the trigger._

* * *

The memories faded. They hitched, spasmed, twitched. Like a film roll spinning out of its hold, the images burning away into an uncertain curtain of black.

But the tunnel stretched. It pulled Elias in its depth, hurled him into the darkness. His ears seared, and he gritted his teeth as his mind traveled through the tenebrous veins of time.

Because he knew there was more. He felt it in the lining of his palm, in the weight of the bracelet, the name carved into the small gold plate.

A light appeared. There, the memories. Slow, incoherent, reluctant.

But real.

* * *

 _There was a boy._

 _Tan skin, dark hair. Piercing blue eyes. His hand was small. His gaze was tired._

 _There was a woman._

 _Pale skin, blond hair. Piercing blue eyes. Her hand held the boy's. Her gaze was tired._

 _There was a man._

 _Tall, wicked, dangerous. He had rings on his fingers and a gold watch on his wrist. He eyed them with disdain but hid it behind a pretense of kindness._

"— _a pleasure to receive your offer," he said, displaying bright white teeth._

 _Fake._

 _The woman smiled. "Thank you, Monsieur Chevalier."_

" _Oh, Anthony is fine, Mademoiselle Roa." He narrowed his eyes. "Do you mind if I call you Leanaj?"_

 _The woman forced herself to say no. The man seemed pleased to hear that. His ringed fingers drummed on his armchair. "And you," he said in a mock-friendly voice. He was talking to the boy. "What's your name?"_

 _The boy pursed his lips. He stayed quiet, leveling the man's gaze until the woman—his mother— squeezed gently his hand. "Malzi," the boy forced out in a little voice._

 _The man smiled—_

* * *

The memory slipped from his hold. He reached for it, reached for the pictures that fragmented into nothingness.

His head pounded with pain.

But he didn't let go.

* * *

 _The man smiled. "You're about the age of my son," he said. He waved for a maid to fetch the child. "You two could play together. You could be friends."_

 _The maid came back with a little boy. He was smaller than Malzi, smaller than most kids his age. With his rosy cheeks, his blue eyes, and his blond curls, he almost looked like a little cherub. Almost, if not for his empty gaze._

 _The man stood up at his full height, then walked past them toward the sad cherub._

" _My son, Erik."_

* * *

The memory snapped. Invisible hands hurled him back, pushing him out of the tunnel of time. He tried to resist, feeling for a single thread to hold onto as the hands brought him back to the surface.

He was about to reach the present when he finally found it.

A thread.

* * *

 _She was asleep._

 _She always was._

 _In the cold, dark room, the air-conditioner whirred slowly. The heart monitor beeped regularly, the graphs peaking at the sounds' rhythm._

 _Malzi slowly walked toward the bed, his eyes never leaving the frail old woman sleeping in it. He sat next to her, brushing the hair away from her wrinkled forehead. Streaks of blonde were lost amid the white strands._

 _He sighed. Stared at the tubes coming in and out of her nose, her mouth, her arms._

 _He clenched his hand around the bracelet._

" _I found the bracelet you gifted me, when I was a baby." His gaze brushed her closed eyes. She was peaceful, as though no harm could ever get to her. He passed a thumb on her cheekbone. "I'll retrieve everything. I promise."_

 _She didn't answer._

* * *

And he lost his hold.

* * *

 **A/N:** Oh wow some background info about Mister Edgy Villain! To be quite honest with you, I think when I wrote this chapter I was kinda using Overwatch as an inspiration. Malzi/Smokey when he wears his mask sounds like Reaper kinda, and when I thought of how to name his abilities and write them I kindaaaa did that in an Overwatch way, aka, "what if Smokey was a hero in Overwatch?".

It was a pretty fun chapter to watch! Next chapter is also done and I'll try to not take forever to publish it, I just tend to take a lot of time so I can make sure that plot-wise, all is good.

Anyway, thank you all for reading this chapter and I hope you liked it! Don't hesitate to leave a review, you know I love those :3

Bye!


	39. The Poisoned Amaryllis

**A/N:** Happy birthday to our favorite ex-assassin, candy junkie, fluffy-haired skateboard-wielding boy! Or as I call it, happy Killua day!

I hope you're all good on this fine Killua day! I don't have much to say, beside the fact that I've watched Miraculous Ladybug, Avatar the last airbender, and I'm currently watching Avatar the legend of Korra, so lately I have a LOT of inspiration. I take a lot of inspiration from what I read and watch so thanks to all this creative catharsis I've been writing a lot more lately lol.

As always, a special thank you to all those who keep supporting this fanfiction. Your reviews keep me going. Writing is hard, and sometimes lonely, so whenever you leave a comment, you make me feel like the work I do is appreciated and there's no better feeling for a content creator. A special thank you to my beautiful Mars, aka **OooodlesOfNooodles** , who leaves the best reviews ever! I love you Mars! (on a side note, Mars, I've memorized how many O's there are in your name now :DD)

Anyway, enough waiting around as my purple wife Widowmaker says… Let's dig in the chapter! Do note the chapter title, it's been decided months ago long before the chapter was even written, and there's more to it soon ;)

I hope you like it!

* * *

 **Replies to guest reviews:**

 **EternityToHere** : Thank you for your review! It's so sweet of you to leave such beautiful praise about my story :')

 **Burlhurlthegurl** : Thank you for your review! Don't we all want to combust tho ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

 **Kiki** : Hi there! Thanks for the review! Don't worry, I'm not abandoning this story. Updates are longer because life has me busy, so I don't have time to write as much as before, but the plot is moving forward and I'm writing again :)

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* * *

Chapter 38: **The Poisoned Amaryllis**

* * *

The pictures burst into a flourish of colors. Elias stumbled back from the memories, from these other lives he had inhabited the space of a few seconds.

He lost his balance before someone caught him and led him to a chair. His ears burned, his head screamed in pain. He sat down, taking his head in his hands, and breathing. _Inhale, exhale._

"Elias?"

The voice was soft, feminine. Deep. It took him a moment to link it to his friend's, Hana. Only then did he realize where he was, and who he was with. There was no Malzi, or Leanaj, or Eugene. No sad little cherub and no domineering father.

There was only Hana, lying in her bed, and Killua, kneeling by his side.

"You okay?" Killua asked. Elias glanced at him, at his calm face, through which he saw a hint of worry. He held onto Killua's steady blue gaze. A tether to reality.

"Yeah," he croaked. "My brain's like a smoothie but I'm fine."

Killua sighed at the joke, then turned toward Hana. "He's okay. It's our El alright."

"Boy," he grunted, massaging his temples. "That was so fucking shady."

Killua handed him a glass of water that Elias happily emptied. "Anything interesting?" he asked.

Elias snorted. "Fuck _yeah_ , there's a lot to say." He frowned. "How did I end up there though?" He had been sitting when he had started using Time Seeker.

"You got up at some point," Hana explained. "And started walking."

"… Huh."

"You looked like you were possessed," Killua joked. "Kinda creepy if you ask me. Next time you go Emily Rose on us, at least warn us."

Elias scratched his head. "… I would have if I could. It was so… intense."

Killua sat next to Hana, on her bed. "Tell us about it."

"Yeah. The first memories were so… clear. I could hear his thoughts like they were mine. But the others were hard to reach. I guess I got too much into it."

"Hard to reach?" Hana repeated.

Elias waited, quiet, to remember the uncertain images. "They were old and reluctant to come to me. Like they were resisting." He stared at the jewel, his thumb brushing the surface of the plastic bag. "But I think there are more memories that I haven't seen. This jewel is a book all of by itself."

"What did you see?" Killua asked, his face serious.

Elias opened his mouth, trying to order his thoughts. "Eugene, first. His memories. He was in the underground room we found with Killua, in the cell. Then there was uh… the Ghost? Smokey, I guess. The big baddie. Eugene mentioned a brother that Smokey betrayed, riches he stole out of greed or envy or… whatever." Killua nodded at him to continue. So Elias focused, gathering the things he had seen and heard and felt as if they were his own. "Eugene was killed because he knew something… a secret of some sorts. Also, he did swallow the bracelet. It fell from Smokey's pocket by accident; Eugene ate it to give a hint to whoever exhumed his corpse."

"So he was certain he would die," Hana deduced.

"Yeaaah, he had kinda accepted it." He recalled Eugene's longing for his wife, the prayers, the wishes that were thrown into the void. He had felt them as though they were his. He wondered if his parents had felt the same thing when they had shielded him from the mercenaries and their cold hate. If in their last moments of life, right when they had braced themselves for the fatal blow, they had longed for a minute more, a second more, a simple instant bathing in sunshine. He brushed the thoughts away. "Eugene had decided to make his last moments a pain in the ass to the bad guys. I don't think I'd have half of his wits in the face of that… ghost."

"Death emboldens some, unravels others," Killua said, his voice knowing and lost in remembrance.

Elias shrugged. His parents' dying faces gripped at his soul. They had been neither emboldened nor unraveled. Just desperate to protect their only son.

His chest heaved. "I guess." He stared into Hana's green eyes. Warm and tender, plains grazed by a spring sun. He let himself be lulled by it. "I think I also know how the butler escaped."

Hana frowned. "Gayan Juma?"

"Yeah, him," Elias acquiesced. "I think he has… I mean, _had_ a nen ability that makes him glamour corpses… or something. Because Smokey asked his men to inspect the butler's corpse and check it wasn't the corpse of one of their men—named Leonardo. So I guess when they were captured, the butler managed to kill one of them and _somehow_ give him his appearance…"

"Would explain how he escaped. We just need to check this Leonardo's dead and it would confirm it," Killua said.

Elias's eyebrows furrowed. "There's more. I saw some older memories." His friends focused in anticipation of what he would say. "I think I saw… memories of the bracelet's owner. When he was a child."

"Malzi," Killua echoed. His voice was clear.

Elias nodded, though with restraint. "The memory was a bit uncertain, but there was a boy…" And he described the scene. The boy with the cold stare holding his mother's hand, the dishonest man with the wicked smile staring at the young mother's slender form. And the sad cherub. His empty gaze. His little fists. "It fits," Elias said. "Malzi's piercing eyes are the same as the Ghost's." The migraine struck back, lightning slashing through his head. He winced. "And the cherub's name… Erik. It matches."

Killua and Hana exchanged a gaze. "You said the mother's name was…" Hana breathed.

"Leanaj," Elias said. "Her name was Leanaj." The scene in the hospital room rewound in his mind. The old woman he saw through Malzi's eyes. The IVs and the monitor and the tiny veins in her closed eyelids. "And I think she might still be alive."

* * *

Killua's mind was whirring.

Malzi. 'Strong will', in Tanalean. That was their Ghost. The smoke nen user. The man who had murdered Ziam Torana and his family, Eugene Priman, Robert Mulgrad, Zaynab and David at the HCDS party, and countless people who had been mere collateral damage. A man who had murdered his own brother according to months old memories latched onto a bracelet.

That Malzi was Leanaj's son. The woman whose name was carved into the comb Hana had retrieved from Gayan Juma's buried package—the sole proof of her existence before the bracelet. She had been hired by Erik Faem's domineering father, Anthony Chevalier, long ago.

And now, Leanaj was in a hospital. Possibly in a coma. And Malzi had promised to her that he would _retrieve everything_.

The comb. The little bracelet.

They were her belongings.

The cogs fit together, but the core still missed.

What had Eugene Priman discovered to earn this brutal fate? Who was this brother Eugene had mentioned, that Malzi had supposedly killed? Killua used to think Eugene had died for the comb, but the memories Elias had explored opened a new perspective that shook the foundations of their investigation.

It wasn't just a comb Malzi wanted. It was anonymity.

But why? If he was a hunter, most of his illegal actions were overlooked anyway. Why bother with anonymity? Why _kill_ for it? Especially when he had to be so _present_ , with one of the most influential mobsters in Megamshill as his friend.

Killua voiced his thoughts to his friends. "Any ideas?"

"Since his mom is still alive, maybe he's scared his identity will somehow lead to hers," Elias suggested. "So he's trying to protect her."

Hana opened her mouth, eyes lost in thought. "Or he's indeed part of the HCDS."

Killua frowned. "Explain?"

"Hunters' crimes may be overlooked in general, but at the HCDS, you take an oath to _catch_ criminals and not be one yourself. Crimes are reprehensible; you may not get arrested, but you do warrant your own expulsion. So perhaps Smok—Malzi is an HCDS agent and he needs to remain anonymous to stay an agent, so he can use the HCDS resources."

"Both are valid reasons," Killua said. He stood up and started pacing in the room under the curious gaze of his friends. "But I feel like there's more to it. I _know_ there is. I remember I had a conversation with Mulgrad before he died. He mentioned… something intriguing."

"What did he say?" Hana asked. She shifted in her bed to sit more comfortably, a hand carefully hovering near her bandaged wound.

"Mulgrad said he had another client. He had agreed to help take down Priman both because he hated the man and because Faem would rally his cause and supply Mulgrad's other client with funds and weapons." He stopped in his tracks, suddenly remembering the visas to Tanalea issued for Mulgrad. "The rebels."

Hana's confusion was barely masked. Elias looked like he had stopped trying to understand. "Rebels?" she repeated.

"Yes. _Shit_. I remember now," Killua said. He rushed out of the room to Hana's working room and found the whiteboard. It had little wheels on its feet.

Killua grabbed a handful of markers and placed them on the whiteboard's railing. Then, he pulled the whiteboard, making it roll out of the working room and into the bedroom. Once there, he uncapped the marker.

He scribbled something, then linked it to Faem. Then wrote new names, drew new links, new nodes, new relationships. New twists.

Elias still looked as confused as ever as Killua expanded the first graph he had made.

But Hana's eyes widened in understanding. Killua wasn't sure if it was horror or wonder or both that peeked through her eyes.

And for a reason.

"Faem is providing Tanalean rebels with funds," Killua explained. "That, and being rid of Priman, were the real payments Mulgrad received for providing the means to end Priman. Now here's my theory: Smokey, whom we now know is named Malzi, is cautious for the reasons you mentioned; his mom is still alive and he wants to protect her, and he's an HCDS agent who can't afford to be exposed for all the shit he does. But now that he works with the rebels for some obscure reason, he has to be doubly careful lest their alliance ends." He tapped his nose with the markers. Some dark thoughts rose from the grave of the Chimera Ants aftermath, memories of the sacrifices that plagued him. He ignored them. "Priman died more because of what he knew than because of the comb. He must have learned somehow that Faem was helping the Tanalean rebels. And if we look into it, I'd bet Zaynab and David knew something about Malzi too—they're the only ones who got bitten by his nen curse. His identity was compromised somehow, and so was his alliance with the rebels—hence the necessity to eliminate the threats."

Hana's wide eyes scrutinized the board. "Your theory stands. Zaynab worked on major weapon trafficking dismantlement cases, and David was looking for war criminals. I heard he had been working on Kumotori war criminals lately—those who'd decimated villages at the time because they were hosting rebels." But her lips pursed. "Where does Ziam Torana fall on that, though?"

"I'm unsure," Killua admitted. "Maybe he knew too much. I'm also wondering why Malzi needs help from rebels. What exactly is he trying to do?" A bad omen gripped at his chest. He pictured Alluka with Omma, meditating in the waterfall. He suppressed a shudder.

Hana was visibly uncomfortable as she spoke next. "That's weird, yeah. Elias said he's trying to retrieve… stuff, which I assumed disappeared or was stolen from her. So why associate with Tanalean rebels?"

Elias crossed his arms behind his neck. "I got a bad feeling about this. As soon as shit gets political, it can only go bad."

"Thanks for the optimism," Killua mumbled as his eyes stayed glued to the whiteboard.

A chuckle was all Elias gave for an answer. "Anyway, we should look for the major arsons that happened in the last four years and try to draw a link to Malzi. Since he covers all his crimes with fire."

"We do that. Some research on the families involved in the arsons could help too. And Leonardo, whoever he was. Malzi's guy. We gotta know when he died."

"If you give me a computer, I can do that," Hana offered. "I'll make a dataset with what I find and draw a graph, it's more visual."

"Yeah, you do your nerdy stuff. Meanwhile, I will look more into Ziam's life," Killua announced. "I'll see if there's any link to Malzi, anything he could have known that jeopardized him. Also wouldn't hurt to check the archives for a boy named Malzi staying at the Chevalier mansion."

"Don't go to the HCDS. Check the Foreign Affairs Minister instead," Hana advised. "They have a huge archives room full of paperwork for Tanalean immigrants. It was created for the mass immigration during Kumotori crisis. Very few papers were digitalized."

Killua nodded. Then, he turned toward Elias. "And you, El? Anything you're more comfortable doing?"

Elias still had the bracelet in his hand—safe in its plastic bag. He was quiet while he turned the jewel in his palms. "Can I keep it?" he tried, though he seemed unsure. As Killua blinked, he explained further. "There are more memories inside of it. They're… deeper. Harder to reach. But I know they're here, and it kills me that I haven't completed my work. There might also be interesting stuff in it, perhaps something about Malzi's unknown brother, or his affiliation with Erik."

Without thinking, Killua's gaze veered to Hana's focused face, silently asking for her opinion. From the hard set of her mouth, she didn't seem too happy with Elias's proposition. "I'm all for a completed work, but remember, it's Malzi's favorite hobby to kill those who know too much about him," she said slowly.

Elias scratched his cheek. "I know. But—I have a feeling, about these memories. They're important. I won't keep it long, I promise. My hideout is secret anyway."

"So was Malzi's identity, and yet look at him now. If he knows you have the bracelet, he'll come after you."

"No actually, he'll come after _you_ , Hana," Killua said, after a moment thinking. "You're the last person he saw with the bracelet and you shot him; you're the one who's most at risk. It might be safer if El keeps the bracelet—Malzi won't suspect it."

Hana frowned. "And then what? I hide at Elias's too, so he doesn't find me and rip me to shreds?"

Elias showed a bright grin. "I certainly wouldn't mind. My girl is always welcome at my humble little home."

"That's sweet of you, but we might as well stop everything if we're going to hide from him. If he wanted us dead, we'd be so since long. I mean, it's not like our locations have ever been secrets—or his, for that matter."

" _My_ hideout is still a secret," Elias argued.

Killua crossed his arms. "Please, everyone knows you have an underground suite near the Cheiji palace," he corrected.

Elias opened his mouth in protest, but as he found nothing to say, he closed it and looked away. "So much for my cover."

Killua flicked Elias's nose. "Kidding. Not everyone knows—just me and my awesome deduction skills. But Hana does have a point. And we can't just live in a cave until it's all over. We need something to keep Malzi at bay or else as soon as he's back on track he'll retaliate. I think we've got some time since he's currently impaired, in the state Hana left him in, and if he's indeed an HCDS agent, he doesn't want to stir the HCDS too much after the party. Erasing Zaynab and David was already a bold move, and now he has Saif, the _president_ of the HCDS, on his tail. Imagine what happens if he goes after you, Hana—Natsu and Allan will hunt him down to hell and back." His jaw twitched. "And that's if I haven't killed him before."

Something softened in Hana's gaze. "Alright, so I'm relatively safe until people get bored of the HCDS party fiasco, but nothing stops him from targeting you, or El, though."

Killua gave a wry smile. "Malzi might be afraid of a vendetta from my family. He doesn't know my father doesn't believe in vengeance. That might be why he's been easy on me." He shrugged. "Can't really blame him. I've already experienced having my brother on my tail, it's not very pleasant."

"Well," Elias started, crossing his arms and nodding slowly. "I have no legendary assassin family and no mom at the HCDS, so… guess I'll die."

"You have us," Killua corrected.

"If he lays a _single_ fingernail on you, I'll kick his balls so hard his future children will weep for him. And trust me, at this point I'm pretty sure he knows that," Hana said. " _We're_ your family now."

Elias blinked at the suddenness of this affection. He smiled, then, a lopsided, clumsy smile, and awkwardly rubbed his nape. "Thanks, mom," he joked, his voice a little shy.

Killua too smiled at the sight. "Hana is right. You're not alone—none of us are. That's our strength: we're a team. We have trust where he has fear, and we have powerful allies on both sides of the law. He only has Erik, and the people he terrorizes to obtain what he wants. That's why I think he'll lay low for a little while. I'm not saying we're completely safe—he will strike eventually, once he's sure he's escaped Saif's scrutiny. But the stakes are high. And he's a not a gambler. He will strike, once he's sure to win."

"If he can't kill us yet, or ambush us, then he might try to intimidate us," Hana noted. "Threaten our loved ones, that kinda stuff. Faem didn't stray in that direction because of Olivia, but what does Malzi have to keep him in check, to stop him from hurting those we love?"

Killua's eyes brushed the bracelet in Elias's hands. A cruel idea peeked through the cogs in his mind.

"He has Leanaj."

* * *

 **11:32 P.M.**

The pain was back. Radiating from his hipbone to his chest, to his feet, to the tip of his fingers, a web whose strings pulsed along his heartbeats. He would close his eyes and imagine a sun blazing where the bullet had pierced him, its core burning through his whole body.

But more than the pain, there was the anger. It seethed in his chest, boiling lava pressing against his throat. And it never stopped. Whether the painkillers worked or not, he was always angry. Angry at this furious girl for turning her gun against him. Angry at his doctor for not letting him out of his bed. Angry at Erik, for not being here.

And angry at himself.

He was a fool.

Malzi was a damn fool.

"You should stop tossing and turning."

Malzi opened irritated eyes at the snide remark. He side-eyed the woman who had spoken, his doctor, and she side-eyed him back with a stare as cold as his wrath boiled.

He would give anything to make her pay for looking at him like that. "I'd like to see you there," he hissed.

"Been there, done that. And yet I didn't cause all this ruckus for a single bullet."

He scoffed, and his wound screamed. "A single bullet," he repeated slowly. The gun cocked at his side burned through his mind. "You should be careful with that sass. I won't always be stuck in this damn bed. And I never forget." And even less forgive.

The doctor didn't seem the least scared. She simply looked weary. "Men like you disgust me. Always thinking you can find your way around with threats."

"It's not a threat. It's a promise."

She pressed a hand on his bandages, her thumb resting on the exact center of the bullet wound. Malzi winced. "You better keep your empty threats to yourself. Or else I stop your nen therapy, and you're in that same damn bed for another three weeks. Trust me, you don't want that." She pressed her thumb on the wound; the surge of pain dizzied him a moment. "Understood?"

He should have cut off her hand the moment she had laid it on him. He should have sewn her lips for speaking like this. Hell, he should have had her killed and thrown in the sewers for hurling these threats around.

But a memory lingered. Her cold hands on his hot wound. Her eyes scanning his body for other injuries. Her deep voice as she calmly asked for the circumstances—'did you inhale anything?' 'did you touch the wound?' 'were you in direct contact with a corpse at the morgue?', her aura and her guidance as she taught him how to let his nen fix his body. And her movements—fast, precise, dexterous. No hesitation, no fear, no trembling.

Her touch undid his pain. She erased it with the tip of her fingers, with the press of her palm, with the surge of her aura enveloping her hand. She exuded intelligence, knowledge.

And Tranquility.

He closed his eyes.

The doctor slowly moved away, always keeping an eye on him. She opened a mallet. "Time to change your bandages," she said.

Malzi remained silent. He trained his eyes on her hands as they worked around his abdomen. He studied her eyes—her icy, calculating gaze. Her pursed lips. Her cold hands on his skin hot with pain.

"What's your name?" Malzi suddenly asked. He wasn't sure why he had asked. It was a bad idea to get attached—there was no room for new friends in his plans.

The doctor stopped what was doing for an instant to glance at him, her eyebrows furrowed. Eventually, she relaxed. "Lalisa. You? Or is it also part of your evil identity I shouldn't be aware of?"

The corner of Malzi's lips perked up. Erik had surely told her she was dealing with a… complicated patient. A patient whose face she shouldn't recognize, and whose name she definitely shouldn't know.

"Malzi," he told her anyway. She could die just for knowing this. If he were any lucid, he should have her memory erased somehow. Death was usually a good way to do that.

Lalisa nodded quietly. "Your name literally has 'bad' in it. How fitting."

"…"

She smiled a little. "You know the movie _Lilo and Stitch_?" she asked as she finished bandaging him.

Malzi cocked an eyebrow. "No?"

Lalisa rolled her eyes. "Have you been living in a hole? Anyway, you remind me of Stitch, but ten times less cute." She drew a line on his forehead with the tip of her forefinger. "This is your badness level. It is unusually high for someone of your height."

Malzi wasn't impressed. "You have some guts, to speak to me in these terms."

"And you need to lighten up, you edgy boy," she said. Then, she put her hands on her hips. "Look, you're not getting out of this bed anytime soon. Erik wants to keep you out of 'business' until you're well so to not exhaust you out. This is for _you_. So get used to me, 'cause I'm all you're getting for a long while."

Malzi's eyes narrowed, his fists clenched. But he said nothing.

Lalisa was on a first name basis with Erik; she had to be important to him. And though the thought infuriated him, it said enough about this woman: Erik didn't trust just anyone.

So Malzi sighed. "Whatever. Just keep me busy."

"Good," Lalisa smiled. "You know what? I'll show you _Lilo and Stitch_. _That'll_ keep you busy. Also, learn from it. Minus the city-destroying thing—I think you're already an expert on that."

An irritated huff escaped his mouth.

He was tempted to roll his eyes, but instead, he simply stared at the window as Lalisa looked for whatever movie she wanted to show him. To 'keep him busy' as she said. As though he were a child to be babysat.

The worst part was that he was letting her.

His eyelids shut close.

He could have her sent away, tortured, killed.

But he thought of her hands, ice on the fire.

And for that, Malzi was a fool.

* * *

 **Wednesday, June 10th**

 **4:15 A.M.**

Killua's satchel was heavy.

That weight, he thought, would be their shield against Malzi. It wouldn't be enough to protect them forever, but it would keep Malzi away from the people they loved. Leorio and Maya, Hana's parents and friends. Once Killua dropped this heavy bomb on Malzi, they would be safe from harm.

Mostly.

The air near the Bay of Dragonflies was humid. It clung to Killua's nose, his senses sizzling at the electricity in the air. A storm was brewing in the sky. It would hit Megamshill during the day.

He gazed at the clouds, almost red in the vast darkness. Gon would have been able to sense the storm long before anyone. He pictured the boy sniffling, frowning at the sky, listening carefully to a cyclone no one else could hear during the hunter exam.

Killua smiled at the thought, his heart longing for his best friend's presence. It was in lone moments like these that he realized just how much he missed Gon.

The atmosphere changed when Killua reached the top of a remote hill. Below it, a bucolic landscape stretched beyond view, meadows ripe with lush grass and lakes that mirrored the stormy sky. And, far behind, a white building ending the single road that cut through the hills.

Killua smirked.

* * *

It barely took any effort to slide open the window to Leanaj's room. No alarm resounded—not after he had singled them out with a flick of his wrist. Eventually, people would learn that they couldn't rely on electric surveillance when he was involved.

But until then, he certainly wasn't complaining.

Killua carefully slipped into the room, closing the window behind him. It was cold with the air-conditioner, but silent beside the beeps of the heart monitor. A bouquet of white roses on the nightstand filled the room with the delicate scent.

And in the bed, an old woman. So deeply lost in a coma, and yet she merely looked asleep. Killua spared a glance at her withering form, unconsciously searching for any hint he could take. But all he saw was an old woman who was being nursed with a lot of care.

So he simply fished into his satchel, all the while walking toward the vase of roses. He took a stack of papers thick like an encyclopedia and placed it near the bouquet.

When he was done with his handiwork, he deftly jumped out of the window. With another flick of his wrist and a small burst of aura, the alarms were functional again—but he was undetected. The next day, doctors would find the stack of papers and inform Erik Faem of it.

Mostly, they would see the little card Killua had left on top of the massive stack of papers.

Three words were scribbled on it.

' _Not careful enough.'_

* * *

 **8:19 A.M.**

It was the same stack of papers that Killua dropped on Hana's coffee table, adorning a smug yet fairly satisfied smile. "A copy of what I left on Leanaj's nightstand. Malzi will shit his pants when the news reaches him."

Hana, who had been sitting on the couch, wordlessly took the papers and put them on her lap. She was now allowed (by none but Leorio) to walk for short periods and sit upright, as long as she kept to her daily sessions of nen therapy. The nen therapy worked well, though Hana still looked exhausted. Dark circles shadowed her eyes and she was a little pale.

She flipped through the papers, skimming through their content. "Where did you find these?"

"Eh, lotsa places. The Minister of Foreign Affairs, Tanalea's Embassy, the City Hall, _et cetera_."

"Woah. And _how_ did you find them?"

He recounted his fruitful tribulations. "First, I checked death certificates. Both Leanaj and Malzi Roa officially died forty years ago. So I found a list of employees working at the Chevalier mansion around that time and matched the pictures to Elias's descriptions and the year of recruitment. I found someone who matched Leanaj's description; she worked as a cook, and was hired under the name 'Adeline Muller'. Nothing about Malzi; I guess he was too young to be hired officially, and he most likely changed his name anyway."

"So this Adeline Muller is the new identity Leanaj took in Saherta," Hana reworded. "You think Chevalier helped with her fake death certificate?"

"I'm sure of that. But I don't know why she requested the change."

Hana was pensive. She tilted her head. "Could have been to hide her origins. The hate against Tanaleans was strong at the time; a lot of Tanaleans issued name changes."

"It wasn't a simple name change; Leanaj faked her death," he insisted.

"She could have been running from someone. Or wanted to bury her past," Hana listed. She glossed over a paper, then rose her eyes toward him. "That doesn't tell me how you found 'Adeline' though."

He smiled. "Elias said Leanaj was in a hospital room, in the memory he read. I searched for 'Adeline Muller' in hospital databases and found nothing, so I figured she had to be in a private building. Like a private clinic. One that Faem most likely owned."

"So you looked for Faem's assets," Hana guessed.

"Exactly. Officially, he doesn't own a clinic, but he does own a few houses and buildings that are supposedly for rent." He sighed. "And then it was pure rebarbative work. I broke into Faem's real estate agency and looked for every employee working for him in the archives."

Hana narrowed her eyes in understanding. "That's why you asked me to print you a list of his employees before leaving."

"Exactly. The Hunter website may not be exhaustive, it was still our best shot." He smirked. "And I found a match. One of his doctors lives in a building on the outskirt of Megamshill—near the Lora plains." He crossed his arms. "And ta-da."

Hana flipped another page, then let it down and raised her eyebrows in approbation. "Impressive, young man. I'm in admiration in front of such efficiency."

He feigned to bow. "Anytime."

"You did all that in what, ten hours?"

"Roughly, yeah." He made a disgusted face. "I don't want to see a single archive for the rest of my life."

She chuckled. "I bet." She nodded toward the sheets. "And so, what's inside?"

"Copies of all the profiles I investigated to pin Leanaj down. The list of employees working for Chevalier—all 48 of them, not counting those he illegally hired—, all their papers and contracts, contracts signed by Faem for the rent of his apartments, death certificates issued for Malzi and his mom, resumes of Faem's employees… basically, everything that eventually led to Leanaj." He sat down next to her. "I hope it'll be enough to cover our tracks and protect Elias. It helped immensely to know what I was looking for. I could have done it without the comb or Elias, but it'd have been one hell of a painstaking task. Just hoping that Chevalier had declared his recruitments was enough of a gamble."

"Nice." She picked a sheet of paper and fanned herself with it. "I just hope he won't deduce we have his comb since we know her name."

"Come on, you don't believe I'd let something as obvious slip." He pointed toward the papers. "If you look well enough, you'll find a copy of an old report written by a social worker. It establishes that Leanaj is indeed sane of mind and body and that her habits are not dangerous for her child, Malzi. The papers were sorted according to the child's name—which explains why we know it. _Because_ we have the bracelet." He leaned in his seat, picturing the hundreds of social cases he had skimmed through in the archives of social workers. He nearly shuddered at the thought. "It seems when they first arrived, their neighbors called social workers to denounce Leanaj of mistreating her son." He shrugged. "I'm not sure what proof they had of that."

Hana snorted. "It wasn't that uncommon at the time, if you were Tanalean, to be accused of a fictive crime or used as a scapegoat for another. I remember my grandma told me something similar—that her neighbors called the police saying she beat her children. My grandma had her flaws, but she never lay a hand on her kids. So she moved away to avoid new false accusations afterward." She paused, her face lost in thought. "Leanaj probably moved away after that, for fear of being denounced again—like my grandma did. I'd say this is probably how she ended under Chevalier's roof. She was still young and pretty, and Chevalier liked pretty, young women, no matter their origins. He offered money and protection, both for her and her son; she offered her services. Whatever they were."

Killua grimaced. "It's very likely this happened." He searched her eyes. "I didn't know your grandma went through that," he said, hoping his voice sounded more compassionate to her than it did to him.

"A lot of Tanalean families went through that. My grandma was lucky because she knew English, she found reliable Sahertan friends, a job, and she made her children go to school. She didn't have the worst fate."

"Still. I can't believe some people would fake mistreatment reports just to be racist shitbags. And I'm not exactly the most ethical guy around."

Hana's lips briefly quirked up at his last words. "I can't believe it either, and yet I have to. Things have changed but if the new rebellion goes through… Imagine a new Kumotori crisis." She exhaled. "Sometimes I worry my children will know what I knew, what my parents knew, or worse. The prejudice of people, their hate, their words. I can't help imagining people hurting my children, making them hate their origins and their culture."

"I won't let that happen," he instinctively replied, then only realized what he had said. His cheeks warmed, much to his embarrassment. "I mean, uh, you get what I mean." He squirmed uncomfortably. "Let's pretend this never happened."

Her grin shook him. It lit a thousand suns in his chest. "You want my babies, Killua?"

"Oh, shut up, will you?" he mumbled, looking away as she giggled uncontrollably.

She snaked her arms around his own, laying her chin on his shoulder. "I was thinking Lua if it's a girl, or Seran if it's a boy, or Kael for a gender-neutral name. Kael Zoaldyeck sounds nice, doesn't it?"

The giddiness died along with his smile. "I'm not keeping the last name."

"No?" Hana said, her voice more solemn.

"No. I think I'll take the name of my spouse. I don't want my children to be plagued by my past."

He rose his gaze at her soft touch on his cheek. Her eyes were peaceful; it filled him with tranquility to stare into them. "Your children will be lucky to have you. Doesn't matter what kind of family you have, because _you'll_ be their family. Not your dad."

Killua took her hand, squeezing it in his own. He held it like it was his anchor—a token that yes, he would be nothing like his father was. "Yeah. I hope." He cleared his throat. "So your ex is coming today, right?" he changed the subject, not bothering with masking the disdain in his voice at the mention of Kai.

Hana shifted on the couch, moving to lean against him. She exhaled. "Yes, it's today, and… I'm nervous."

"Of? Seeing him or seeing his revelations?"

"Both. I don't know if I'm prepared for either."

He slid an arm across her waist, pulling her closer. When she rested her hand on his, and her head on his shoulder, he relaxed. "You'll pull this off like you always do," he reassured. "I'll be there."

"I know. If you hadn't been, I'd be doing something stupid."

"Like what?"

"Like… I don't know, maybe reorganizing my entire bookshelf, and then my cupboards, and then edit my planner until my every breath is scheduled, until I have nothing left to organize and spam Tom till he blocks me."

He chuckled. "Sounds like quite the journey." He lay a kiss on her forehead, lingering ever so slightly. "Good thing I'm here then, hm?" he breathed, his voice brushing her skin in a murmur of tenderness.

She nuzzled closer to him and sighed, her head tucked into the crook of his neck. "You have no idea."

* * *

 **5:35 P.M.**

When the doorbell rang, the sound echoed in Hana's head long after it was over. For a moment, she wondered if it was too late to jump off the window and hide until Kai was gone, or perhaps pretend that she was too sick to talk. The various excuses, all the more original—'so I have an extreme hangover' 'my cat caught the flu, sorry I can't talk' 'I promised my mom to paint her nails, it's been five years' 'I'm dead inside, please leave'—floated in her head even as Killua opened the door. She was sitting on her couch with a mug of tea on the coffee table, but inwardly, she was still trying to fit her body in a cupboard and wait for it to pass.

Voices in the entrance corridor alarmed her. The greetings were brief, cold—as expected of Killua, who remained polite but made no show of false affection.

At this point, she was clasping her hands together in a desperate attempt to busy herself.

Then, Kai appeared in the threshold.

He had changed, in those two years they had spent away from each other. His tan was more pronounced, his hair tickled his neck, and he was a bit taller. But his eyes, the sad amber irises, hadn't changed the slightest bit.

Her heart leaped in nervousness. She forced a smile, one that matched his own awkward smile, and nearly tripped on her feet when she stood up.

And something broke in her code then, because she didn't know what she had stood up for. Shake his hand? Too formal. Hug him? Too affectionate. Bump his fist? Too friendly. Run away? Too late.

When she saw his own confused face, she cursed herself for her awkwardness. If it had been masked before, now it was plain as day. "Um, hi," he tried.

"Hi," she croaked back, then cleared her throat.

Killua sat down in silence, watching both awkward exes standing like idiots and drowning in their own awkwardness.

The worst was that none of them would move. They just stood there. Two big idiots, gawky and stupid with nervousness and unable to say anything worthwhile.

Finally, Hana sat and gestured for Kai to sit in front of her, on an armchair.

A tense silence settled. She thought she would choke with it before Kai talked. "So uh, are you better?"

She blinked in confusion, only then remembering she had told him she wasn't well. "Yeah, I'm better. Thanks."

He thankfully didn't ask her what she had. It would be quite strange to explain to him that she had been shot while retrieving a baby-sized jewel lost in the stomach of a corpse, after fighting a man who wore a mask of smoke and kicking him in the groin.

But knowing herself, it wasn't that far-fetched. "And you, how are you?" she asked out of consideration.

Kai simply shrugged. "Same old. But I do have things for you," he went straight to the point.

Hana felt Killua shift in the seat next to her on the couch. When she glanced at him, he was leaning forward, his elbows resting on his thighs. She tried to mimic his posture but stopped abruptly, her wound screaming at her attempt. So she sat upright.

Kai didn't miss her reaction but made no note of it. "I searched for the flower you described to me when I was in Tanalea. A poisonous amaryllis, rare enough to not be known by botanical hunters, causes burning pains and eventually death if no treatment is found." He paused, searching in his backpack for something. When he found what he wanted to show her, he stopped and crossed her gaze, silently asking for her approbation.

A bad premonition lodged in her chest, but she nodded nonetheless.

Kai took a glass bell out of his bag. Inside the bell, there was a flower.

Hana's heart missed a beat at the sight. Her blood froze. Her hands quivered. Her breathing was shallow.

The sight of the amaryllis shook her to her core. Its petals were black, woven together like the wings of a moth. Long stamens protruding from the flower undulated, though there was no breeze—especially not in the glass bell.

It took everything in her to not unravel.

"That's the flower," she breathed. "Tattooed on his hand. The _exact_ same flower."

Kai's eyes shifted from the flower to her to Killua. As though he sensed her distress, he added: "This one's harmless."

"How did you get it?" Killua asked, eyeing the flower with curiosity—the damn thing was _moving_.

"I found a 'magician's' shop; he told me he silenced the flower—with zetsu I presume. I think it feeds itself on aura, but he killed its ability to harm by silencing it."

The words did little to reassure her. It was only when Killua gently lay a hand on her thigh that she let herself relax. "I'm okay," she said, willing her voice to be even. "Keep going."

Kai nodded. "It's called _sifalan hanaiko_ ," he started. " _Sifana_ for short."

Hearing her name startled her. "The poisoned amaryllis," she translated.

At this, Killua frowned. " _Poisoned_? Not poisonous?"

Kai acquiesced. "I heard the flower took its name from a Tanalean legend, but I didn't get everything. It was something about gods fighting for a land and consequently killing everything in that land with their fight. It's said the _sifana_ was the only flower that survived, but it was poisoned by the soil that became toxic."

"And instead of dying, it became poisonous itself," Killua guessed.

"I suppose. But what I know about the legends is vague. All I know is this flower is extremely rare and in its 'woken' form can be deadly. I'm not sure how it kills but the magician told me to never come close to one that is awake—he said it will eat away my life energy, cause burning pains, and make me feel the worst agony."

A scoff made its way through Hana's mouth. "Sounds about right. So this flower has been silenced forever?"

"I think the magician made it so it can't be awakened. He must have used a nen oath on it somehow since the flower eats aura."

"The glass bell," Killua said. "It's nen-conjured. That's what's forcing the flower in a zetsu state."

Kai didn't reply, but Hana didn't imagine the surprise flash across his eyes—he was impressed, and she could see why. Few people would show such calm in front of a nen-eating flower and deduce so easily the source of its harmlessness.

"There are some books that could help you," Kai resumed. He looked in his bag again, this time taking a stripped piece of paper with a few words on it and handing it to her, all the while ruffling through his papers with his other hand.

Hana took it. " _The Wrath of Gods and Goddesses: Encyclopedia of the Hansifa Mythology_ ," she read out. "Written by Hayate Mori."

Kai was still searching in his bag. "I couldn't find it anywhere. It's a book that describes the sifana legend in details—and other Hansifa legends." He finally found what he was looking for, visibly relieved. "Here."

She looked at the book he was handing her. " _Warad an ajna_. A study on flowers," she read out.

"Botanical hunters may not know the flower, but locals have written about it—around the area where Hansifas used to live. They don't like giving their literature to foreigners—they're afraid the foreigners will capitalize on it."

"Yet they gave it to you," Killua noted.

Kai shrugged. "I gave them rare plants in exchange." He nodded toward the book. "I think I slipped inside a piece of paper with another book title."

Hana flipped through the pages until a strip of paper peeked out. She took it from between two pages, squinting at the title written on it as she let down the book on the coffee table. Boy, did she have a thing for boys with awful handwriting? " _Kainaj an nas_. Our history," she translated.

Killua took the study on flowers and flipped through it. He didn't seem bothered by the language—the book was in Tanalean—but then again, he was staring at the drawings.

"It's the only book I could find," Kai said as he looked at the book in Killua's hands. "The one about Tanalean flowers. I heard the two others, the book about Hansifa mythology and the other about their history, are here in Megamshill. Probably owned by collectors. They're rare enough but not so pricey. I suppose whoever owns them does so because they like books, not because of their price."

Hana glanced at the flower. She had this eerie feeling that it was conscious, that it _saw_ her. "So you think the Whisper is part of the Hansifa clan?" she asked.

"I think so. They seem to take inspiration in the _sifana_ —and he has the tattoo on his hand." His eyes darkened. "People don't like the Hansifa in Tanalea. They looked wary when I asked for information about the clan."

"Why so?"

Kai hesitated. His amber eyes were troubled. "They said the Hansifa were ' _rajan'_ , cursed. They told me the Hansifa were witches and wizards, that I shouldn't trouble them or else they will steal my life like the _sifana_. One old woman called them 'kazai', life traders, though I don't know what it means."

At the words, Killua's gaze veered toward Kai. He said nor showed anything to Kai, but Hana felt his interest piqued. "So people were scared of the Hansifa's power," Hana reworded. "They were probably nen users."

Kai nodded. "Powerful ones with that. I snooped around a bit and found they _use_ the _sifana_ for their nen. It's more than just an inspiration for them; they consume the poison in small doses until they're immune, and then they shape their nen around it. I don't know the details, but it's sure that part of their abilities is based on the _sifana_."

Hana's heart pounded in her chest. The Whisper's source was on her coffee table, in a little glass bell. Its stamens undulated as though invisible aura controlled them. Like those that reached out of the Whisper's hands when he cursed his victims.

She shivered. "Sifana," she said, to no one in particular. After a moment of silence, she forced herself out of her stupor and met Kai's gaze. "Thank you, Kai. This is all very precious information."

Kai shrugged. "Glad I could help. Do you want to keep the flower?" he asked with hints of doubt in his voice.

Hana grimaced but nodded. "I think it might be a hint in itself. I'll keep it somewhere safe."

"Sure. It doesn't need a lot of sustain; water it once every two weeks through this compartment," he showed a small container at the top of the bell. It was partly a handle to lift the bell, but the top came off to let water inside. "You put water in this container, close it, then remove the filter here," he showed a small handle on the side of the container, separating the compartment from the rest of the glass bell. "That way you avoid every contact with the flower—even if it's been silenced, the glass bell does make it harmless. Also, it doesn't need sunshine. For some reason."

"Lovely flower," Hana said under her breath. At least she wouldn't have to interact with it often.

Kai didn't wait to leave. She tried to offer some tea to him before he left, but he seemed happy to be done with the awkward interaction—and to escape Killua's cold stare.

A part of Hana was sad to see him go. Not because she missed him, and not that she wasn't enjoying the relief that came with his absence, but it tasted sour to watch his back as he walked down the corridor.

It tasted like déjà-vu, and she hated it.

* * *

 **7:45 P.M.**

Two hours had passed.

In the glass bell, the monstrous flower was still gracefully dancing along whatever imaginary breeze brushed it.

Hana watched the stamens undulate with a keen eye. She had tried to water it to make sure she had understood the process, and the small droplets of waters still glistened on the black petals.

One thing Hana had noticed after all this time studying the object of her nightmares was that that the tips of the petals weren't black. It was a deep red, a red so deep it _almost_ looked black, but not quite. Apart from that, she still had this eerie feeling that the flower was alive in a way most flowers definitely weren't—that it was conscious, seeing, _aware_. That it watched her through the dark petals, contemplating all this aura it couldn't devour.

She shuddered.

The study on flowers was categoric about the _sifana_ : if you wanted to live, you shouldn't go anywhere near it. But besides that, the book characterized the _sifana_ as a miracle of nature in that a non-conscious, non-feeling being had mastered the art of nen for its survival. According to the writer, the _sifana_ thrived off life energy—'aura'—absorbed by the surface of the petals that it stored in the tips as some flowers would store nutrients. The more energy it consumed, the redder the tips of the petals became—with the area near the center always black. To nourish itself, the flower used the energy stored at the tips of the petals—which would then darken as its resources depleted.

Judging from the color of the amaryllis, it was hungry. Hana's eyes went back and forth between the drawing of the flower on the book—a nourished flower, its petals a perfect gradient of bottomless black and bloody crimson. And her flower, with its tips a dark maroon.

Another thing the book mentioned—beside the atrocious symptoms of _sifana_ poisoning that Hana didn't need to be reminded of—was the attraction the flower had toward nen. As a sunflower would follow the direction of the sun, the _sifana_ followed the direction of nen. Hana wasn't willing to try it on her flower. She told herself it would be a waste of time, considering the flower was silenced, but the truth was she just didn't want to be more creeped out than she already was.

"You found anything interesting?"

Hana glanced at Killua as he made his way into the living room. She eased into him when he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, leaning over her to watch the book—and laying a kiss on her cheek in the process.

"That flower is an actual nen user," she answered. "Like, the bitch knows more nen than I did a few years ago. Its entire functioning is based on nen."

"I know you hate it, but that's kinda awesome."

"I _do_ hate it, but it _is_ awesome. And scary. If a tiny ass flower can kill once it mutates to use nen, what could bigger and more dangerous species do?"

Killua ran his fingers through her hair. She felt his chin on her head, but he was silent for a long moment. "There are species we know nothing about. Entire continents that we haven't fully explored yet. I don't think the _sifana_ is an isolated case, but it's definitely not the kind of knowledge I'd want into bad hands."

"Yeah. If the Whisper used that power to harm so many people, imagine what other people would do." She grimaced at the thought, at the admission that some people were worse than the Whisper, that some humans could be more monstrous than he had ever been. "The flower is just feeding itself. But the people who use its poison or its nen curse or whatever the hell it is… they won't be as neutral as it is. I'd be curious to know why the Hansifa thought it would be a good idea to replicate that power."

"There could be a hundred reasons. Maybe they were curious about the flower, or maybe they needed the power to defend themselves, or maybe they just sought the power for power itself, or for science. Only the books can tell—and I might know where to find them."

Hana looked up. "Really? Where?"

"Arashi has a collection of rare books. I saw a sample of it while snooping around, last time. There's a big chance she has those books if they're as precious, content-wise, as Kai says they are."

"Could it really be that easy?" Hana mumbled, thumbing the pages of the book on the table.

"I don't know any other book collector. Besides, I guess sometimes things don't have to be complicated, hm?" He kissed her cheek, leaving a warm, tingling spot near her neck. "I'll check tomorrow at Arashi's. I'll use the opportunity to discuss plans with her, too. Two birds in one stone. I just need to call her to make sure she'll be home and not wandering off to wherever mobster widows go."

"What can I do in the meantime?" Hana asked, swiveling to meet Killua's eyes, her movements always careful so to not hurt herself.

Killua smiled. "You? Get into that bath I poured you. No buts. Get naked and go relax. Won't kill you, for sure."

He left after that.

It took a minute for his words to sink into Hana's head.

And when they did, she couldn't help a grin.

She could use a warm bath, after all.

* * *

 **A/N:** Ayeeeee. Say hi to Lalisa, my new OC, and Kai, award-winning Awkward Ex with a Troubled Past!

I hope you liked the revelations. There will be more about that later on, and I can't wait to get there!

Now let me know what you thought about this chapter, it makes me so happy to read your reviews! Even a little 'I like it' will make me happy :D

I'll see you in the next chapter!

Until then, stay awesome :D


	40. A Beacon in the Storm

**A/N** : Hiya guys! I'm updating today, **on August 8th** (look it's past midnight in France therefore it's August 8th okay) for a very special reason… **It's Hana's birthday!** Yep I totally followed the pattern Togashi made for his characters, so Hana's birthday is on August 8th!

So **Happy Birthday my baby girl that I love more than anything in this world**!

In all seriousness, Hana has been with me through hell and back, even before she became the Hana that she is right now. I created her when I was 14, and at the time she was a _disaster_ and _so was I,_ really, but she grew with me as I became better—and as my English got better too, since I'm not a native speaker. At this point, Hana isn't just an OC to me, she's practically my child. She helped me get through hard times with her story, and gives me the inspiration to express my creative path—until maybe I finally find my way through life.

So I dedicate this chapter to Hana, the light of my life, which is a very funny thing considering this story is her story but you get what I mean! So happy birthday Hana and to celebrate that… here's something… cute. Also revelations but… something very cute. c:

Also, because I got the question from a lovely Guest, I've been asked **what Hana's voice sounds like** , so I'd like to point you to **Wotamin** , an amazing Uttaite singer, who is Hana's voice! Here are some songs I recommend:

A Born Coward  
Tokyo Teddy Bear  
Higai Mousou Keitai Joshi

She has a channel with all her covers, feel free to check it out! She's really good :D (Obviously, Hana only shares her voice, not her singing abilities since Hana's singing could raise the dead.)

Anyway, I'm gonna stop rambling. As always, thanks to the four (4) people who still review this story, you're the real MVPs out there, and you all get a virtual piece of cake *hugs*. All the other ghost readers, I hope one day I'll get the privilege of meeting you, my door is always open to you *hugs* (and I mean it. You haven't reviewed in a long time and you're scared of talking to me? Don't be! The worst that could happen to you is me choking you with a virtual hug out of sheer happiness of seeing you again lol. There's no right time to review, or to reach out for an author; we're always here waiting for feedback, so you'll always make us happy, trust me.)

I hope you'll enjoy this chapter!

* * *

 **Replies to guest reviews:**

 **Allie** : Thank you for reviewing! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter!

 **Sara** : Hello, and thank you so much for this sweet review! What you said about Hana and Killua, and about the story itself, made me so happy ;A; Your English is great by the way! And to answer your question, Hana's voice is Wotamin! Wotamin is an Utaitte singer, and her voice is deep and feminine, with a wide range of pitches, and that's how I imagine Hana's! I hope you don't mind that I referenced your question in the A/N, I just thought it was an interesting question (and I was pretty excited that someone was interested in Hana's voice! :3) I hope you'll enjoy this chapter!

* * *

Chapter 39: **A Beacon in the Storm**

* * *

 **8:12 P.M.**

The sun had set early that night. Nightingales hopped onto the branches that poked the window along the evening breeze, singing a sweet tune that Malzi wanted nowhere near him.

He groaned.

The only kind of birds' chirping Malzi would tolerate at this moment would be one that told him how to ruin _that_ _girl's_ life. Foolish girl with her foolish gun. But _nah_ , instead, the little feathered devils kept nagging at him with their so-called 'singing'. It made him want to throw up.

Malzi groaned again, turning his gaze away from the pretty scenery.

His doctor, who had been taking notes in a notebook she always carried around, perked her head at the sound. "The scenery isn't evil enough for you?" she deadpanned, her blue eyes not showing an ounce of humor.

Her name was Lalisa, Malzi had learned after those three days under her piercing gaze and perfect care. She was the only person beside Erik who knew Malzi's real name, and his real face, and his waking habits, and his moody moments, and the fact that he couldn't stand raw onions and always sneezed four times in a row—no more, no less—, and a lot of other things nobody was supposed to know. Malzi couldn't say he was proud of this—admittedly—gargantuan flaw in his perfect anonymity but holding the glamour had been too costing when he had collapsed in Erik's office the night the devil girl had shot him.

It didn't help that Lalisa was a trusted doctor of Erik's. First name basis, personal information, occasional jokes… It was as sickening as it was, to Malzi, imprudent—and a twinge of jealousy reminded him he had no idea about Erik's friendship with Lalisa. But he couldn't exactly just kill Lalisa because he wanted to—or because it was safer— especially not after nearly _accidentally_ killing Erik's beloved wife.

Not that he _wanted_ to, but that was a dangerous thought he tucked away in a dark corner of his mind.

Ever since, Lalisa knew who Malzi was. And all he could do was trust her discretion—which Erik had promised, and he never took his promises lightly—and hope his opponents weren't half as wicked as he could be. Or, you know, that Lalisa could hold her tongue under torture.

At least, for now.

"I'd roast all these pesky beasties if I could," Malzi mumbled. "They'd be better off chirping in my stomach."

Lalisa scoffed. "First eat the food I bring you and then we'll see about your rotisserie."

"First bring me something edible and then I'll consider eating it."

She didn't peek from her notebook, scribbling something on it. "You'd think evil villains would be less petty, and yet here you are."

Malzi didn't consider himself to be a villain. Not that he cared about her judgment. "I guess being shot took its toll on my amiable mood."

"You? Amiable? Hard to imagine," she snorted. She finally rose her gaze from her notebook, staring him with the closest thing to an amused expression she had ever shown. "Maybe convince me of your _amiability_ and I might negotiate for something else than a pea soup for dinner."

"…"

"That's what I thought."

Malzi didn't comment. "What are you always writing into that notebook?" he changed the topic, nodding at the leather-bound artifact in her hands.

Lalisa shrugged. "Secret."

"My face is also a secret, and yet here we are."

"I'd keep my face a secret if I looked like you, too."

A laugh escaped Malzi's lips. "I really don't look that bad, do I now?"

Lalisa seemed startled for a moment—he couldn't blame her, he almost scared himself with the sound of his own laugh. She considered him with curious eyes, but her scrutiny wasn't unpleasant. "You don't look bad. But it's too bad for you I'm immune to men."

"Being a lesbian doesn't mean you can't tell me what you're writing in there."

Lalisa laughed. "Why do you even care? It's not relevant to your _evil_ cause, I assure you."

Malzi sighed. "I'm bored. And you've been sitting there for three days, changing my bandages, and smacking my head when I try to sneak away. You won't even let me do my _evil stuff_. So the very least you can do is entertain me. _Not_ with a movie for children."

Lalisa puckered her lips. "You look like you're not used to being told 'no'."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm not, and yet here you are."

"Get used to it, you entitled brat."

Malzi let out a long breath and leaned back in his bed, closing his eyes for a semblance of silence—the birds weren't done chirping his brain away. A part of him had just processed the fact that Lalisa had insulted him—and, especially, that he had let her get away with it.

But what could he do about it?

For some reason, none of his intimidation techniques had worked on Lalisa. Malzi wasn't sure if it was because she had seen him in one of his most vulnerable moments—covered in blood, gasping for his breath, with his face naked for her to see without the mask of smoke—or if it was because she was Lalisa, but nothing worked. She was immune to him and to the fear he inspired to all those around him.

Worse, _he_ wasn't immune to her.

He kept remembering the moment she pressed her cold hands on his feverish skin. Her calm eyes as she treated the wound, her pursed lips as she sutured it, her whispered words of relief—'you'll be okay, I've got you'—as she tamed his pain. And the moment she had stood to him with her eyes flashing anger against her icy expression when he had tried to get up and resume his work. "You walk out of this room and consider my therapy over," she had hissed, and none of his ill-minded options had worked to change her mind. She wasn't afraid of him, or of what he could do to her. And he needed her.

Ever since he had been laying in that bed, watching that window. And watching her.

He hated it. He hated it like he hated the nightingales and the pretty sunsets and the things he felt when he heard Erik laugh and saw his eyes light up.

It reminded him of the good in the world. It reminded him of the things he could be doing and the friendships he could be mending instead of fulfilling an empty promise and pursuing an emptier hope. It reminded him of people's humanity, of their fragility and their honesty, of all these concepts he had given up on as he grew up and saw how people treated him and his mother, of the virtues they had forgotten to survive in a world designed to hate them.

And he hated every moment of it.

* * *

It turned out brooding alone didn't make the pain go away, sadly. Neither did mentally cursing the girl who had dared to point the gun in his direction.

There were, however, some efficient ways to make his pain worse.

Malzi found out one of them when Erik barged into his room.

"Something came up," he said, to Malzi. With a nod, he gestured for Lalisa to leave them alone, then locked the door once she went out—after she glanced at the two of them with curiosity.

That was when Malzi expected the worse. Erik knew how to be diplomatic; 'something came up' was often synonym to 'there's a problem neither of us can fix and I know you'll flip your shit when you know about it'. "What happened?" he asked, making sure his voice betrayed none of his worries.

Erik hesitated for the barest of moments—eyes flickering to the floor then back to Malzi. "They know about your mother."

If anger had a feel, a physical sensation to it, it would be blazing coal, burning and grating his throat as he swallowed. It would be a fist clasped around his neck. It would be a gunshot wound pulsing on his abdomen. Sudden, seething, slaying through every ounce of reason in himself. Blinding as lightning and just as petrifying.

It would be any of what he was feeling at this moment. "Tell me everything."

"They broke into the clinic. Left a stack of papers that was just delivered to me, and a card as their only message. I suspect it's the Zoaldyeck boy."

"Show me the card."

Erik hesitated, but he fished the card out of his pocket and gave it to Malzi.

' _Not careful enough.'_

The card crumpled in Malzi's hands as smoke devoured it. The ashes fell on his sheets. The calm and collected part of him whispered it was a bad idea, that the card could have held important hints about the boy. But his wrath swallowed it. Reason cowered in the face of his hatred. "What's in this stack of papers?" Malzi asked. His voice was as steady as the storm raging inside of him was violent. Distant thunder growling in the horizon. "Anything worth noting?"

Again, Erik pursed his lips, his eyes flicking from Malzi's gaze to the ashes on his bed. "Her fake death certificates. Names of my father's employees. List of my real estate possessions. Of my own employees." He halted, his mouth hanging open. "A social worker's report. It mentions your name, and hers. Neighbors claimed that she mistreated you and a social worker was on the case."

Malzi shut his eyes closed. His mother had never told him about the social workers. He remembered a woman who had once visited them, claiming to be a nanny, back when they had first landed in Megamshill. It should have been obvious that his mother never had the means to pay a babysitter, let alone regularly. In his memories, he had assumed she had been benevolent. He had yet to realize at this age that people never did a thing without putting a price tag on it.

His fist shook. He controlled the tremor in his hand, opening his eyes on the room—looking for an anchor to ground himself and forget the rage and the terrible, terrible sorrow that choked him.

His mother had wanted to protect him. To keep her adult problems away from the child he was at the time.

And that had cost her this secret.

"Damn them," Malzi mumbled under his breath.

Killua was right. Malzi had made too many mistakes.

He wasn't careful enough.

* * *

The bedroom was quiet as Hana took her bath, the silence only disturbed by the TV's remote sound and Killua's humming as he folded clean clothes and sorted them in Hana's closet. The task was calming enough, the simple actions allowing him to free his mind. It was mundane, and easy, and that was all he needed at this moment, in a time where his mind was constantly overstimulated. He was fond of intellectual challenges, but there was a difference between interesting and exhausting and their current case was crossing that line.

Sometimes, he felt like his brain was being wrung in between the thousand facts and doubts he had to juggle with. And Hana's gun wound had very nearly pushed him over the edge. The memory of her collapsed form clutching her bloodied side was still fresh in his mind.

And it hurt.

It hurt so bad.

Days later, he still remembered the immense helplessness that had submerged him. The raw terror gripping his whole being. The panic that possessed him, _owned_ him, when he had seen her blood oozing through her clasped fingers.

He still shuddered at the thought.

Those gloomy memories had been recurring in his dreams, in his moments of idleness, in little cameos of that night that sometimes squeezed themselves through his focus while he worked. He supposed his exhaustion had something to do with it. Superhuman or not, everyone had their limit and after what had happened to Hana, Killua was dangerously trudging his own. It was a terrifying thought because weakness wasn't something he could afford.

But he was just tired. His heart was tired. His mind yearned for some quiet. All he wanted was a second of peace. An interlude in this giant mess. Just one instant without his brain buzzing with speculations and plans and questions and tasks and lists and worries.

And a moment with her. He needed a moment with Hana. Not working, not thinking. Just the space of an embrace, to be together and bask in her presence. He just wanted a _moment_.

Hana's sigh interrupted his thoughts. Killua found himself staring at the door to the bathroom, pleasantly startled by the sheer pleasure in that sigh. A fond smile caressed his lips as he resumed his task.

As he pulled a tee-shirt from the pile of dry clothes on the bed, a pair of panties dropped on the floor. Killua squatted to retrieve them, neatly folding them and putting them on a pile of clothes that belonged to Hana. He then picked out two warm towels for Hana, putting them aside to bring them to her when she was done with her bath.

When he took care of Hana, Killua felt better. It was one thing he could do, one thing he had control over. Maybe he couldn't have prevented the gunshot, maybe he couldn't have foreseen that Malzi of all people would cross Hana's ways, but Killua could take care of her and deal with the aftermath and make sure she was okay. Be it by helping her clean her wounds or doing her laundry or working harder so she could rest. Everything was an option when it involved her.

He loved her. And every day that passed, with the madness looming on them as the case deepened, he held on to that thought, that one truth he treasured.

She was his beacon of light.

To think she had once thought she would be the ball and chain to drag him down.

When all the clothes were neat and folded, Killua returned to the living room to finish doing the dishes. He used a lot of dish soap, hoping to minimize the feel of the dirty plates against his hands—a sensation he abhorred; it felt like the 'armpit of Satan' as he had once told Hana, who had then questioned his relationship with the great devil. He may hate doing the dishes, his least favorite housework task, Hana liked her apartment clean, so he was doing his best to keep it to her standards.

A news flash coming from the TV caught his attention, then. His eyes darted toward the new content on the TV, his hands pausing as he watched keenly the news anchor present the report she had just received.

" _Our special reporters have just informed us that protests irrupted in the two capital cities of Tanalea, Hejean and Nea_." The pictures flashed, showing rows and rows of people brandishing banners and nearly trampling each other as they moved in a single wave toward the presidential palace. Armed forces stopped them at the gate, throwing tear gas to disperse the crowd and disengage. " _Our experts have just confirmed that a new element regarding the death of General Roa that occurred five years ago has been leaked by an internal member of the government. According to this source, the general's death, which had been classified as a suicide at the time of his death, was in fact autopsied as a homicide. Ever since this rumor spread like wildfire on the social networks, protesters have taken the streets to demand the truth. Reporters Justin Bimberlake and Ann Queen will walk you through the event._ "

At the mention of the general, Killua frowned, the old prickle of déjà-vu stinging him when he needed it the least. He recognized a hint of fear prowling in him as he took in the words of the news anchor.

The screen changed to an amateur video of people rushing in the streets, masses following masses, with banners and sticks and stones that they threw at the police cars. " _Nea, Wednesday, June 10_ _th_ ," the reporter started in a deep voice, the camera flicking to senators waiting behind secured gates as protesters threw junk over the metal gate barring the Senate. " _A bleak day for Tanalea as rumors regarding the General Roa's death seem to rise from his ashes_."

The screen changed to an old footage of the general at his prime, a black-and-white video of him leading his troops through the presidential palace during the Kumotori issue. " _The general Roa was one of the main leaders of the rebellion that struck Tanalea forty years ago, and was later known as the Kumotori issue_ ," the reporter reminded. " _After he was arrested, the general Roa spent thirty-five years in prison before was found dead in his cell, just five years ago. At the time, his death had been classified as a suicide, but the recently leaked autopsy reports describe his chest as a clean hollow, a report that directly contradicts the official sources_."

As the reporter finished his sentence, the footage changed from a heavily decorated General Roa to a group of protesters chanting their slogan on and on: Truth and Justice for Roa. " _Upon this new turn of events, the protesters' clamor is the same all over the city: Justice and Truth. This is what they ask as they march in the streets of Nea and Hejean, some in a disorganized fashion, and some in a more peaceful way._ "

The camera flicked again, to a group of protesters calmly walking along a boulevard in Hejean.

Killua's eyes widened as he read some of the banners the protesters carried, the voice of the reporter drowned by the growing clamors chanted by the protesters and brandished on their banners.

'# **FreeRoa'**

'STOP THE LIES'

'Terrorist government'

' _ **NO**_ to censorship! _**NO**_ to silence! _**NO**_ to corruption!'

'# **JusticeForRoa'**

'WE WANT THE **TRUTH** '

'Democracy, no monarchy!'

'#burnthegov'

And so on. Dozens of banners, some in English, some in Tanalean, incriminating the president for the murder of General Roa. And with each new banner, Killua's shock grew—and his fear now almost choked him, a suffocating fog that had claimed his lungs.

Some protesters talked about a butchery, some accused the president of silencing the opposition. Some even accused him of being a terrorist.

But Killua knew better. His thunderous heart and pursed lips knew better.

His secrets knew better.

And because of them, people were now marching to the presidential palace for a truth the president didn't have, for a story he couldn't tell, and for accusations he couldn't disprove. Some protesters were hurt, some died, some yelled their fury at the government they thought guilty of the murder of their icon, their general, the leader of the putsch.

Killua's jaw clenched. The doubts and speculations seized him again, after a short truce. The reporters' words dulled as he focused on the pictures of the havoc—the burnt tires barring streets, tear-gassed protesters hurriedly leaving the streets with bloodshot eyes and swollen faces, officers walking forward with their shields up to counter the stones thrown at them, the president calling for calm on national TV…

Five years later, the consequences of Killua's desperate actions were finally reaching him, in the shape of havoc and fear. All of this distress, all of this panic…

All of it was on him.

* * *

If there was one word that could describe what Hana felt, it would be bliss.

Just pure, innocent bliss.

A long, peaceful sigh escaped her lips as she sank deeper into the bath. Warm water softly sloshed around as she moved, pulling her in a delicate embrace. Her legs were weightless, her feet dangling aimlessly in the water. For a moment, it felt as though she was flying, floating in a little cloud.

Rose-scented steam rose all around her, with hints of amber and vanilla percolating through the floral perfume. Sweat beaded at her forehead as the warm air kissed her skin, leaving it smooth and flush with the heat. Her senses answered every stimulation, her mind catching every sensorial experience.

She opened her eyes, watching her fingers disappear through the pink translucent water. The dim light around her wavered as scented candles' flames danced on the edge of the bathtub. Her shadow, too, undulated on the wall next to her, details of her profile following the candles' rhythm.

And so, she sighed again. Sank even deeper in the little piece of heaven, wrapping her arms around herself and letting her eyelids softly close. She felt so tranquil she could almost sleep.

 _Thank god for Killua and his genius ideas_ , she thought amid the rose-scented steam. _And thank god for bath bombs and scented candles._

A few knocks on the door had her open her eyes. Just as she glanced at the door, Killua came in with a set of freshly washed towels.

A grin overtook her face as she lay eyes on him. "I'm in heaven," she said, her half-lidded eyes never leaving his tall figure.

Killua glanced at her as he put the towels on the counter next to the sink, eyebrows wiggling. "I always have good ideas."

"You do. It feels so good, even the pain calms down. Thank you _so much_ for the bath. I had no idea I needed it that badly."

His kind smile melted her. "You tend to forget to take care of yourself." He crossed his arms, tilting his head ever so slightly. "So I'm here to help you remember."

She scrunched her nose at his words. They left her way too giddy for her own good.

"You found anything about Leonardo?" she changed the topic.

Killua squatted as he snooped into the drawers. "Yep. Boy died the same day Eugene was kidnapped. Necromancer Gayan confirmed."

"Technically—"

"I know, Hana. It's not _actually_ necromancy. But humor me for my memes, will you?" he said—just as he found the hairbrush and turned toward her. He sat on the edge of the bathtub and gestured for her to turn her head. When she complied, he gently passed his fingers through her wet hair to detangle them. Then, he used the hairbrush, passing it through her hair with infinite care, slowing down when he met more tangles, and massaging her scalp with the tip of his fingers at the same time.

God. That boy knew how to take care of her.

"I just find it hilarious how you're always so precise in your arguments, but the moment an opportunity for a meme arises, you forget all semblance of fact-checking or precision," she noted—but her mind was elsewhere, to the sparks that tickled her stomach as his thumb brushed her nape.

"What can I say? A guy gotta live."

She opened an eye. "You implying memes are life?"

"You implying they're not?"

She left her mouth open, tilting her head—he promptly tilted her head to the other side as she did. "You got me there."

"I know. Not even your stubbornness can deny the power of _real_ humor," he announced as he stood up, his task completed—much to her disappointment. It gave her _tremendously_ pleasurable shivers when he played with her hair and pressed on her scalp.

"You did name yourself 'memelord69' on Snapchat for a reason," she mused.

He put the hairbrush near the sink. "You're one to talk, 'HotPotato', hm?"

Hana beckoned him to come at her level. "Am I not your little hot potato?"

He knelt near the edge of the bathtub, gripping the ledge to balance himself. "You're my potato alright. Now, hot? Not sure about that."

Hana propped herself up, letting her face rest on her hands, near his own face. "Oh, really? Takes some gut to say that when I'm naked right next to you."

He let his gaze wander to the pink water sloshing around her naked hips and cupping her voluptuous breasts. "Don't give me ideas."

"What if I _want_ to give you ideas?" she asked in a sultry voice, peering deep in his eyes, a lazy smirk on her lips.

He brushed a strand of hair back behind her ear. "You make me feel… creative," he said, leveling her gaze with his own, his fingertips lingering near the base of her neck. It shot fireworks through her stomach to hear his voice so low and raw. Her body responded to his every call, and a mere touch of his fingertip lit her up like a star. "But I think it'll have to wait a tiny bit."

"Oh? Why so?"

He grinned. "Because we're going on an adventure."

Hana blinked. "An adventure?"

"Yep. A thrilling and life-threatening adventure, soldier."

"Oh! And what's our mission, cap'?"

Killua feigned to look serious. "Operation Food Supply, code name: Burger King."

Hana's eyes widened in excitement. Relief, hope, joy… they all bubbled and fizzed in her chest. " _Really_?! Is it okay?"

"I asked the Colonel Leorio, he said it was fine as long as you don't stand for too long. It's actually good if we can get you some fresh air. So… we'll be quick." He let go and stood up, taking a towel, and handing it to her with a knowing expression on his face. "We can even stop by the court afterwards, if you want. What do you say, soldier?"

The grin that overtook her entire face vibrated through her whole body. " _Killua_!"

"Yep, that would be me," he deadpanned, helping her stand from the bath and wrapping the towel around her body. He then wrapped a hand around her waist to help her get out of the bathtub and wrapped the other towel around her hair.

"I can't believe it," she mumbled through the towel as he fumbled with it. "It's like, it's like… I don't know! The best surprise ever!"

Killua's lips quirked in a lopsided smile. "It really doesn't take much to make you happy. And people say you're complicated?"

"It means the world to me. All of this. You staying by my side the whole time, pouring me a bath, taking me out… I feel so lucky," Hana expressed, staring at him with all the gratitude overflowing from her gaze.

Killua cupped her face, his warm palms resting on her cheek. "I'm glad it makes you happy. You're gonna be miserable if all you see are the same four walls, and the last thing I want is you feeling down."

She nuzzled against him, burying her nose in his neck, paying no heed to the uncontrolled grin over her face. "I love you, you know that?"

He held her against him, mindful of her fragile wounds but keeping her close to him.

"I know."

* * *

 **10:12 P.M.**

After all this time stuck in her own apartment, traveling between her bed and the couch, holding her side whenever she had to stand, seeing only the same four walls all day long, Killua could just imagine the joy she felt upon walking in the quiet streets of their neighborhood.

Although, to be fair, it wasn't that hard to imagine when her entire being vibrated with it.

She looked like a diver breaking the surface of the sea and taking long gulps of air. As though she had been starved of oxygen, of the cold night air, of the eerie noises and strange melodies poking through bushes and trees.

And just like that, she looked awake again.

It brought a smile to Killua's lips to watch her enjoy such simple things as a night stroll through Megamshill. Though she was still a bit weak, they took longer detours, with his arm always supporting her, to extend their time outside and make the most of the night, with its mysteries and its wonders.

"God, it's like I'm rediscovering our neighborhood. It's only been a few days, and yet it feels like years," she quietly said, her eyes catching sight of everything, greedy for every detail around them. He tried to follow her gaze, to see what she was seeing—the golden casing of a picture in a shop window, the stylish hat resting on a wooden mannequin in the couture shop on their left, the way the tree near the bus stop forked around it as if it were hugging it. And always, her eyes would go up, to the bright moon over them.

"You're like a puppy. If you don't go out enough you get depressed."

She chuckled. "Maybe so. Tom always says if I were an animal, I'd be a dog. I beg to differ and think of myself more as a dangerous T-rex, but I have yet to convince anyone of that."

Killua laughed. "Yeah, gonna be hard to look like an apex predator when you're constantly begging for cuddles."

"Well, _excuse_ _you_ , apex predators need love too!"

"Yeah, I know all about that."

"You? You're not an apex predator Killua, you're more like… a Chihuahua."

"Me?! A Chihuahua?"

"Yeah! You're such a drama queen, so picky about everything, constantly looking for food…"

Killua feigned to scoff. "Well, for someone who's constantly craving attention and yapping to whoever will care enough to hear, you're getting quite ahead of yourself."

She giggled. "Chihuahua, Killua… all the same. It even rhymes. This is your heritage."

"… Raincheck on my snarky remark, my brain is too tired to figure something out. But I'm not giving up! I'll find something to debunk your Chihuahua slandering campaign, young lady. Eventually."

"Take your time, babe," she said in between her giggles, and though Killua was pretending to be offended, he liked the sound of the endearment term from her mouth. "You know, I've been thinking…"

"Hmm?"

"Ever since we started working together on the case, I've been feeling like it became more personal to me. Like, I just had to find what happened to Vincent Melchior, and you just had to find what happened to Eugene Priman, but then we got mixed up into something that's… so much bigger. I felt ashamed, but I wondered at some point if we could let go of this case, get on with our lives, and just… I don't know, keep living." Her face was solemn as she spoke those words.

"No shame in that. When we confirmed the identity of Eugene's assassin, I did think about it too. But we know too much about Malzi for him to just let us go. And it just doesn't feel right, to give up now. Not right for Elias, for Arashi… for us, too."

She stayed quiet for a few seconds, as though she considered what he had said. "I feel the same. It feels wrong to give up when I have the power to stop him. And it became a personal case when I saw what he did at the HCDS. Knowing that he could harm my mother or Allan, or any of my friends at the HCDS… It drives me crazy." She pursed her lips. "And yet I can't help wondering if it's the right decision to keep going when your life and Elias's are on the line. The last time I pushed a case when I shouldn't have didn't exactly end well."

Killua glanced at her, startled by the sudden confession. "Hana, you and Feri were so young. You were barely trained. El might be a goofball, but he's strong. So am I. If I really felt that the case was too much for us to carry, I'd have told you so." He brought her closer, making sure he always supported her as they walked. "We'll be fine."

"I really hope so."

He nudged her. "Come on, no more gloomy thoughts for now. You need to stuff your pretty face with a bunch of junk food to feel better."

She chuckled. "You speaking from experience?"

"Yep. Nothing like a big fat burger to feel better about mass murderers hunting your ass."

"Sounds about right. Your wisdom strikes again, Killua."

"I know, I know. I should honestly consider a change of career and become a philosopher. The world would be a better place if I could just spread my wisdom, you know."

"The world is already a better place with you in it," she said, and her voice was light but sincere.

Killua knew then that she wasn't joking anymore.

Neither was he when his lips brushed her cheek with tenderness.

Sometimes, actions were a lot more eloquent than words.

* * *

The noises Hana was making would have put any porn actress out of business.

It just so happened that the object of such passionate moaning wasn't a man, or a woman, or a person in general.

It was a giant burger.

"Jesus. And I thought you were loud in bed," he said, amused by the display of affection in front of him. Affection, for the burger in her hands.

"God, that thing is so fucking good," she replied with her mouth full, and he sighed.

"I wish I could make you moan that much. Apparently, I'm not as good as a burger."

"Don't beat yourself over it; nobody is. Besides, this is the closest thing to an orgasm I've had in days."

He chuckled. "That sounds terribly sad. Looks like someone's been missing me."

"Tell me about it," she said as she stole a few fries from his plate—she had her own, but it wouldn't be Hana if she didn't try to get her greedy grabby hands on his food. "One of the main reasons I hate Malzi's guts right now isn't so much the fact that he shot me, or that he delayed the investigation, or even that he's just a generally terrible person," she started in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I hate him because I haven't gotten any sexy time in what, a week? All because of that stupid bullet."

Killua snorted. "It's only been a few days."

"All the same to me! Feels like centuries here."

"Tragic. Atrocious. He truly is the worst villain, after all."

"I know! My brain's been retaliating with the wettest dreams _ever_ but my body is like, 'hey girl if you do so much as laughing the wrong way I will make you wish you were never born!'." She sighed. "I don't think you quite realize the torture it is to like, watch you undress in front of me, or see you get out of the shower, and, _and_ … being unable to touch."

He slurped on his drink, considering what she had said with a cheeky smile. "You know, if you really need me that _badly_ , I could arrange for… a little something."

She stopped in the process of stealing another of his fries, her face blank but her cheeks slowly reddening. And she cleared her throat, working on her composure the best she could. "Um. That didn't go where I expected it to."

"Oh? What did you expect? I have an _efficient_ way to get rid of that pent-up sexual frustration of yours. You just need to ask."

Hana's face was now rivaling with the tomato that had just escaped her burger, hanging on her mouth while she awkwardly tried to catch it. "I don't think my body is ready for your fervor just yet."

"It's not about me. It's about you. I don't need anything—I can take care of myself. But I can... help you."

She frowned. "That doesn't sound fair for you," she protested.

He shrugged, finishing his fries before she could snatch another. "Sex isn't always about coming, for me. Sometimes I'm pretty content with just making _you_ come. And watching you in the process."

He was happy with her reaction. She was squirming on her seat, looking anywhere but at him. Biting the straw of her drink to hide her burning cheeks. He couldn't help a smirk at the result of his teasing—it was so very satisfying to watch her squirm and hesitate and want him so badly. It drove him wild. "So, what do you say?" he asked, purposely never leaving her gaze. The thrill was exhilarating.

Hana didn't say anything for a moment, instead focusing on her dinner. Until she huffed, and shyly looked toward him. "So, anyway, shall we go?"

He knew he had won when she said that.

* * *

Hana seemed content when they left the fast food restaurant. Killua suspected it was because of their last exchange, which had left her with a rosy hue in her cheeks and a dreamy light in her eyes.

He wasn't complaining, of course. The sight was delicious to him.

On their way back, she tried to distract him with stories of her childhood, and the more he laughed, the brighter her eyes were, so he didn't hold back. They walked slowly to accommodate to her wound, with his arm laced around her waist to help support her.

They took fewer detours, too, as he felt she was getting tired—though she said no word of it. He walked her carefully through the empty streets, in the heart of their neighborhood, their eyes glazing over the shop windows around them. He could sense her mentally noting which shop she could visit when she was better, whenever her eyes caught on an alluring dress or whenever she saw him lingering on a cake a little longer than necessary. One of her favorite hobbies had become to try and guess what present to gift him based on his reactions when they were window-shopping together, and tonight was no exception. It was one of the endless reasons he found her so deeply endearing.

The atmosphere changed when they reached a closed store of electronic products. In the dark, the TVs of all sizes displayed in the window shop all showed the same news report Killua had seen earlier: Tanalea was in crisis.

She motioned him to stop, her eyes glued on the screen.

And just like that, all his good mood faded. He followed the pictures on the screen, the same amateur footage of the protesters and the police wrestling in the streets. The same banners, the same accusations, the same slogans brandished against the senators of their country.

And the same guilt that he felt.

His eyes left the screen, instead focusing on her. She showed no great pain, but her eyes were sad and weary as the reporters showed the riots that had erupted after the protests. She didn't wait much longer; instead, she sighed, and they started walking again.

"You okay?" he asked her, after a few minutes in silence that weighed on him like centuries. They made his insides knot with nervousness—and the ever-present anxiety.

"Yeah. I was just thinking about my uncle. I hope there won't be any more civil war in Tanalea."

His eyelids twitched. "You still have family in there," he asked, but it sounded more like a statement than a question.

"Yeah, my uncle on my dad's side still lives there with his family. He went back to Tanalea for his studies and stayed there. When I see stuff like that, I can't help thinking about him."

His chest constricted. "What do you think about all this?" he asked, just as they reached their building. He opened the main gate, then closed it behind them as they walked through.

She gestured toward the door to the back garden that led to the court, her smile speaking for her, and though he was anxious, a small smile was on his lips too.

"Not much," she finally answered. "My country has had issues for as long as I remember. It's nothing new. And honestly, I never believed one second that the general had killed himself. And if anyone assassinated him, it can't be the government. It was _way_ too convenient; the government would never have risked that. Especially that he was, what, eighty? Ninety years old? He wasn't the power-hungry general who had marched through the presidential palace anymore. He was just an old man in his cell. So I'm guessing the rebels killed him precisely to put the blame on the government and rekindle the riots. Which is why the government faked the autopsy reports. Everyone's shady in that case."

"The people seem to like him," he said, hoping his voice didn't come out as small as he felt inside.

"He just became a martyr. But he was neither good nor bad, and he wasn't particularly interested in peace and unity either when he commanded the putsch, forty years ago. He just wanted to rule. My uncle doesn't like him. He says the general was one of the bad apples that got mixed up with the revolution for power."

"Mixed up?"

"When the rebels took the streets to protest for change, some criminals and opportunists hid among them—including the opposing parties to the government. And what started as a protest for a just cause ended in a civil war. Remember what I told you about the Valnai and the Tejeman, warring for control of the country? The rebellion was the perfect opportunity for the Tejeman to rekindle their duel with the Valnai—since the main opposing party was led by a Tejeman and the president was a Valnai—, and here we are. Because two clans can't accept being in the same country."

"Isn't there a part of truth in what they fight for, though?" he asked.

"Well, the Valnai have always ruled, for as far as I recall. Tanalea used to be a monarchy before it became a democracy, but it's always been a Valnai or a friendly clan ruling—even when elections were issued. My grandma told me centuries ago, it used to be the other way around, with the Tejeman ruling the country and the Valnai opposing them. So I guess we've come full circle now. For sure it looks like the elections are rigged for the same group of people to always end up in command, but it's foolish to think it would be better if we replace a clan of rich snobs with another clan of rich snobs. Tejeman, Valnai… all the same to me. They both want the same thing."

They reached the gate to the court and promptly went in. He helped her sit on the bench and sat next to her. "Did the rebels decide to wreak the country just for control?"

"No, there were good reasons to protest and demand change, but the sad part is just all the opportunists that saw a chance for a conflict and took it. The citizens were just collateral damage. I mean, the Valnai and the Tejeman used to be the rich nobility—and in a way they still are—, so it's not like the Tejeman had any reason to protest besides wanting to rule. And because of that, the country suffers. The people just got dragged in the longest duel for power in history. Which is why the whole Kumotori issue pisses me off—when I think all these people suffered, my _family_ suffered, just because of two clans warring for power. The rebellion was just a ploy from the Tejeman to get control of the country—and even that failed."

He watched her as she spoke, and it struck him, once again, the sorrow that percolated through her expression. It was faint, but it was there. "I'm sorry," he just said.

She waved him off. "Come on, it's not your fault. It just so happens that my country is riddled with a past it can't shake off. This whole conspiracy thing is such a mess anyway. Whatever. Nothing new. Let's just talk about something else."

"No," he interrupted. "You don't get it."

She blinked, tilting her head. "Don't get what? We can keep talking about it if you really want to."

"No, that's not what I meant... I..." He paused, his mouth hanging open with confessions heavy on this tongue. His chest constricted, his heart was too tight in his ribcage, every heartbeat vibrating in his whole body like an alarm. He clenched his fist to stop its trembling.

Hana swiveled toward him with her eyes full of questions. "Killua? Are you okay?"

"There's a lot of things I want to tell you. It might not make a lot of sense to you, but hear me out," he started carefully, glancing at her with regret and fear. Her face was fraught with worry. "Remember when I said I needed time for us to be together? Lately, I've been thinking a lot about that, about us, about how I feel for you. I want to be your boyfriend, to be all yours, to be with you for as long as we last. I've been wondering about how I'd tell you, especially when I made such a fuss about dating." He pursed his lips, avoiding her eyes. "But... there are things I must tell you first, things I need to come clean about. Because I can't let you get into something you don't know. And if you change your mind about me, I'll understand."

As he stopped talking, he finally glanced at her only to be faced with utmost confusion. "I have no plans to leave you, Killua… And I don't get how we started talking about that."

"I want to come clean, Hana," he insisted, though the secrets shivered in himself. "There are things I have to tell you. Things about my past and your country. I can't bring myself to be with you when I'm responsible for so much of the shit happening in your country."

She considered him, her gaze peering into his for answers. "I still don't understand but do tell. I'm listening."

That was the difficult part. The part where a secret he had kept locked in his chest for years was struggling to break free. He opened his mouth, searching for the monstrous truths buried in himself to pluck them and show her their thorns.

But his hands were shaking. He gripped his knees to stop the unceasing quivering, to no avail.

Until he felt her hand on his. Warm and soft yet holding his hand still in her firm grip. She said nothing, just held him, and stroked the back of his hand with her thumb.

He took a deep breath. "I killed the general Roa. It was me."

Hana didn't reply; instead, she frowned in confusion and encouraged him to continue.

"Five years ago. I was fourteen. I sneaked into his cell and killed him. Those people are rioting because of what I did. I _caused_ all of this," he said, gesturing with his hand as though he wanted to show the extent of what he had done.

Again, she was silent. She was still holding his hand, and her grip hadn't loosened, but her silence was deafening. She wasn't looking at him either, her gaze lost in front of her. His breath became shallow at the prospect of whatever was going through her mind—because whatever it was, it was rightful. Every doubt and question, even distrust in him, he deserved it.

"For Gon," she suddenly said. She then stared at him, her eyes determined but enlightened. "Right?"

His eyes widened, unwittingly.

"You told me that five years ago after the war, Gon was grievously hurt. That his nen had been hurt. You never said how he recovered. I know Tanalea has some great nen exorcists—Allan tried to seek one for me there until it turned out I didn't need it. And I'm guessing some of them might have gotten mixed up with the rebellion." She searched his eyes, drawing him into the depth of her gaze and its enlivening heat. "Am I wrong?"

The corner of his lips tipped up weakly. "You're too smart for your own good," he softly said, losing himself in the intelligence and curiosity glistening in her pupils.

"Tell me everything," she asked gently.

And so, after a deep breath, he did.

He told her the whole story.

* * *

"After the Chimera Ants war, Gon had cursed himself by overusing his nen", Killua started. "We tried calling every nen exorcist we could but they all said the same thing: it was way too much for them. Whatever Gon had done to himself was a monstrosity they wanted nothing to do with.

"So I took the matter into my own hands. I didn't want to endanger my sister by using her power, so I looked for a nen exorcist powerful enough with my own means." He stopped, reminiscing about the days and weeks blindly searching for a miracle to save his best friend. The helplessness he had felt when no one turned up. The cold dread thrust in his heart at the thought that his best friend had self-destructed and that there was nothing he could do about it. And this deep fear that had claimed his entire being—of watching Gon die. "One day, someone told me about a guy in Tanalea who could help me. They said he was a 'fazai', and I had no idea what that meant at the time, but it was _something_. So I boarded the first blimp I could find and went to Tanalea to look for him."

"And he found you instead," Hana guessed.

"Yeah. Somehow they knew I was in Tanalea, and they approached me to lead me to the _fazai_. That's when I met him.

"His name was Amadeus. He was a rebel at the time, working under the leader of the rebellion that got imprisoned recently. He wasn't Tanalean though—I'm guessing he had some business in the rebellion. He told me that if I killed the general, he would help Gon." A rueful smile crossed Killua's face as bitterness pooled in his chest. "The general was my last contracted kill."

"And then, I suppose he did save Gon."

"He did."

Hana remained quiet, lost in thoughts, as Killua said those last words. The contact of her hand was reassuring, and though Killua feared her future questions, the sudden lightness that came with his confession was a blessing. Sharing his _burden_ was a blessing.

When Hana sighed and turned toward him next, Killua's heart missed a heartbeat. "Killua, why did you think I would leave you for that?" She softly asked.

"You have every right to leave a guy who's the cause of your country's issues."

Hana shrugged. "It's not all black and white." She tightened her grip on his hand. "I would never judge you for the things you do out of love."

"Even if it involves jeopardizing an entire country's stability?"

A little smile reached her lips. "If it weren't you, it would have been someone else. You're not free of blame, but who do you think deserves the blame more, a lost kid desperate to save his friend or a grown ass adult exploiting a child's emotional wounds to kill a man and make a political statement?"

Killua shrugged. "I will always blame myself. I can't control what other people do. But I can control what I do and decide."

"But do you regret it?"

He glanced at her, silent for a long moment. "No. I'd do it again." The truth he had just uttered gripped him at the throat with its steel surety.

Hana's expression softened. "And that's why I love you."

"You love me for destroying your country and claiming I'd do it again?"

She let out a sad chuckle. "You didn't destroy anything. You were a pawn like many others. The situation in my country is so blurry it's hard to find what's right or wrong. So I wouldn't paint anything in white or black; everyone has a say in what happened. If anything, you're a victim that got dragged into a mess you needed no part of."

"Hana, you don't have to excuse what I did. I was a kid, yeah, but I was a kid with abnormal strengths and the power to change things for better or worse. And I chose the worse."

"And what was the better choice then?"

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His mind was blank, his mouth was dry.

"I thought so," she said, moving her hand to intertwine her fingers with his. He answered to her touch instinctively. "You had no better choice."

The realization stuck to him with its cruel implications. No chance to do better, as though in every scenario, he was bound to bring the whole world down as he crashed and burned.

But Hana kept stroking his hand. "You know, there's something I have to tell you too."

His eyes shyly stole a glance toward her. Her profile was serious, a faint moon glow kissing her with its ivory light. "Yeah?"

"I would have done the same if I had the slightest chance of saving Feri. A thousand times over."

The confession rippled through him with understanding and sorrow. The weight of her pain, the weight of the unchangeable. He had done what she could never do: he had saved his friend.

With this thought came a welcome but tragic gratitude. Because though he was guilty of a lot, more than he could forgive himself for, she was right. He _had_ brought Gon back.

"You're right," he admitted. He considered apologizing, about Feri, but the gesture seemed off. "I'll never regret saving Gon."

At his words, Hana smiled, her fond gaze caressing him. Always soft, always here. With the serenity and the understanding and the kindness that only she knew how to give. "Good. Treasure that second chance you gave him. I'd never hate you for doing what I never could. And I'm glad you let me know about this. So, thank you, for trusting me with your secret."

Her words were salvation to him. Just as he drowned in a storm of his own making, she had offered him light and kindness where he thought he only deserved thunder. She had been the beacon in his storm, the hand that had held his, the arms that had accepted him whole and embraced him tenderly.

In that moment, Killua didn't think. He leaned in and brushed her lips with his own, letting his feelings guide him as he kissed her with all the gratitude he felt for her. With his hand cupping her face and his breath mixing with hers as she responded to his kiss.

When they broke the kiss, they remained close, with his forehead resting against hers. The warmth of her breath lulled him, and he leaned in for a shorter, tender kiss.

"I love you," he then murmured between her lips, his words dying as they sealed the kiss. "I love you, Hana. Your light, your warmth, your energy, your humanity. I love them all. I love _you_."

Her breath hitched, her eyes were furtive, her cheeks burning. The moment was engraved in her face, all of his confessions reflecting in the spark that shone in her gaze.

And then, she grinned. She grinned like only she knew how to, so bright and yet so gentle. "I love you too," she timidly murmured.

He couldn't help a smile. She was terribly endearing, and he loved her for that. Before he knew what he was doing, he had fished in his pockets for the one token of his confession he could give her. "I had been wanting to give you this for a while, but didn't know how to," he said as he placed the object in her palm.

She looked at the object. "Keys?"

"They're the spare keys of my apartment," he calmly announced. "Duplicates. They're yours now."

Hana's head perked up. "Really?!"

"Yeah. I can't think of a better way to, uh... ask you out, I guess."

She kept staring at the keys, her cheeks taking a hue of red he wasn't sure existed. "Oh my god. You mean, we are official. We are a thing. You're my boyfriend, and I'm your girlfriend, and these are the keys to your apartment, and you're giving them to me, and they're mine now. _Mine_."

"Yep. Sounds about right. That's one insightful analysis."

"We are _a thing_."

"We are."

Her eyes wouldn't leave the keys. They shone brighter than ever. Then, she wriggled on the bench and took her own keys out of her pocket. "Here! For you!" She offered, shoving the object in his hands.

He traces the jagged edge of the key, then smiled a little. "How do you intend on going home without your keys?"

"..."

He chuckled and gave her back her keys. "You can give me your spare ones, Hana. No need to lock yourself out or your own apartment to ask me out."

Her face flushed red as she babbled something unintelligible. Adorable, as ever. He pulled her into his arms, his lips on her temple, and kept her close to him.

She nuzzled into him then. Her hands tightly clutching the keys he had given her, as though they were the most precious thing ever. "I love being your girlfriend," she murmured, her voice as quiet as the wind in the grass around them.

He exhaled soundly, relishing in their proximity, in the reassuring warmth of her skin against his. "I'm not always easy to be with," he started, his voice carrying the weight of his past actions. "And I know I'm not for everyone."

"Good thing I'm not everyone, then."

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 **A/N:** Ladies and gentlemen, 39 chapters later, these two idiots are finally dating! Also wow, Malzi is being chummy with Lalisa! What a time to be alive. I've got a lot of plans for these two (no romance though, Lalisa is gay and twenty years younger than Malzi) and I think you'll like it. Annnd well, I did tease about Killua's involvement with the rebellion a while ago, so here's the answer.

If you enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it, feel free to leave a review—they're like treats for us authors, trust me. You might think you have nothing to say, but a small 'I liked it!' will always make my day.

I shall end this chapter with a very insightful equation that should inspire you:

 **(Chocolate + 2 A.M. inspiration rush) x Author Motivation Spikes + Reviews^(reader support + love expressed) = a happy author and faster updates, ultimately.**

On this note, please review :D

Bye!


	41. Nightmares

**A/N:** Hi guys! I hope you're all good! I'm updating a bit earlier than usual because 1- I finished writing chapter 42 (thanks to a lovely anon who sent me love and motivated me to write; if you see this, thank you again!) and 2- I'm starting a new job in a week and so I might not have as much time to update. Yeah, a real job this time, not just an internship. A real job, with real responsibilities, and real colleagues, and real adult expectations.

(heeeeeeeeeeee I'm terrified :DDDDDDDDDD)

On this note, I created this fic when I was still in college in a time when I kept thinking to myself that I'd never make it out of college, and now I'm like, supposed to be a real adult… It's both really inspiring, to think back to all the moments when college seemed like insurmountable, and really scary because _boy_ I have no idea what I'm doing lmfao. I feel like I'm faking it a world where everyone knows what they're doing. Anyway, all that to say, you can do anything you wanna do, things that might seem insurmountable never really are, you can do this, and also here's an early chapter to celebrate my, uh, graceful start of adult life? My submission to capitalistic expectations? The paycheck that I endured 5 years of null pointer exceptions to earn? Idk. Just enjoy the chapter I guess :D

As always, thank you all so much for supporting this fanfiction! Reviewers, you have a special place in my heart. I'm really glad you like following my babies and their tribulations (aka the hell I put them through) :')

For those of you who like Elias, you're gonna like this chapter! He gets a lot of moments (and gains more importance in the story as well) and will be one of the keys to uncovering more nen stuff (I say "one of" because there are many lol). Without further ado, dig in and I hope you'll like this chapter!

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 **Replies to guest reviews:**

 **Guest** _(on chapter 32 and 33; I'm assuming it's the same person since the reviews were close in time to each other; I apologize if I'm mistaken!)_ : Thank you so much for reviewing! And "best chapter ever? Maybe. It sure feels like it" this is so sweet and I loved that so much I showed it to my mom and sister XD I'm glad you're enjoying the story!

 **Guest** _(on chapter 39)_ : Hello sweet anon! Thank you so much for dropping by for Hana's birthday! It's so very sweet of you :') Take your time with the story, I've written a lot and I know how life can be so don't worry about catching up, it's really sweet of you to still check the story! And omg thank you for what you said about my baby girl ;A; (I have a feeling that I know you, anon :o) Anyway, thanks again and I hope you have a great day, if you see this! *hugs*

 **Myrthil** _(on chapter 29)_ : I believe I sent you a message on tumblr already, but let me reiterate my thank you here! So Thank you, for reading this story and reviewing it! It means so much to me :') I hope you enjoy the rest as well!

 **Random Reader** _(on chapter 39)_ : Hii! Thank you so much for reviewing! The things you said bout Hanallua made me so, so happy, you have no idea. I really wanted to convey a loving, healthy, and supportive relationship between them, so knowing that you noticed makes me really happy! Thank you for reading my fic and reviewing!

 **Mars 2.0** _(on chapter 39)_ : LOOK I KNOW IT'S TECHNICALLY NOT A GUEST REVIEW but humor me Mars, I just wanna express how much I love you again XD Thank you for the constant support you show this story, I wouldn't be here without you my sweet pie *hugs*

 **Kiki** _(on chapter 39)_ : And here's a third update ;D I really am on fire lately, I've been writing a lot XD Thank you for your support, Kiki! You're awesome :D

If for any reason I forgot to reply to your review, feel free to let me know! I make a point of replying to everyone to thank them for their support (it's the least I can do, for those of you who take some time to support me) so if you don't get any reply, it's just because I forgot. Thank you all for your support, you're awesome!

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Chapter 40: **Nightmares**

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 _The ceiling fans were wobbling as they spun above him. More than once, he had glanced at them and wondered if they would snap and drop from the ceiling. Yet, in that heat—painful, heavy, suffocating heat—any semblance of a breeze was welcome. Sweat pearled on his forehead and glided on his nose, down his neck, on his temple, and he would hastily wipe it away with an impatient hand._

 _He had no time to wait._

 _A man finally opened the wooden door and ushered him inside. Killua followed him, his eyes adjusting to the darkness as the man closed the door behind them. Nothing happened for a few long minutes, and Killua was starting to lose patience when the room started trembling._

 _Then, it moved. Downward, Killua realized. An underground passage. It told him everything he needed to know about whoever wanted to meet him: they couldn't afford to be seen._

 _The room stopped moving several floors below ground level with a brutal thud. Once it was immobile, a door slid open, leading them in a dimly lit tunnel._

 _After checking that no one was here, the man told Killua to follow him. Inside, some paths forked in different directions and Killua mentally noted every turn they took in case he was heading into a trap. It was very possible, after all, that he had come for nothing and that the woman who had told him someone in Tanalea could help him had been lying. And if it was a trap, then he was walking headfirst into it, offering himself on a gold platter. He was a hunter, the heir of the Zoaldyeck family, a war veteran from the Chimera Ants war, and a fourteen-year-old boy. Each and any of these titles would earn him a fair price on the black market. He was a walking goldmine for any human trafficker._

 _And yet he kept walking._

 _Trap or no trap, he had no choice. He had to save Gon, and these people were the only ones who had answered his distressed call._

 _After one last turn and what seemed like an eternity of walking, the man entered a passcode on a pad to unlock a grand gate barring their way. The gate folded open, letting them in a glass cabin, with no mechanisms or pipes around it, just small holes in the floor, and a cross-shaped hole in the ceiling. Once they were inside, the guide emitted a burst of aura and the cabin abruptly flew up. Killua had to lean against the walls to not lose his balance. He glanced at his guide, barely masking his shock at the massive Ren that seemed to occupy the entire space of the cabin._

 _The guide was perfectly stable on his feet, taking a stance with his legs apart, slightly bent, and his arms down toward the floor. As Killua used Gyo, he saw the burst of aura emitted from the man's arms went through the small holes on the floor and propelled the cabin up. A mechanism that ensured only he could lead this cabin up in the building_

 _He was just his guide, and he was a powerful nen user._

 _When they reached the top of the building after what Killua estimated to be at least a hundred floors, the elevator slowed. An anchor tied to the top of the tunnel came through the cross-shaped hole on the ceiling of the cabin and extended until it held the cabin stabilized without the guide using his nen. Only then did he stop, and he had barely broken a sweat._

 _He entered a passcode on the gate they had stopped in front of and led Killua through a lavish corridor that smelled like leather, rich wood, and lavender._

 _The atmosphere completely changed. Red carpet covered the floor and Western-styled paintings lined the marble walls. Some marble pedestals resting in between the paintings carried vases from various cultures—Chinese dancing dragons, Greek gods at the Olympics events, Tanalean tales of spirits painted across the porcelain… One vase in particular, with colorful chimeras drawn on it, caught Killua's attention. Their resemblance to the King of Ants, Meruem, made him shudder._

 _The guide stopped in front of a heavy door and readjusted his vest. A soft music playing from the other side of the door tickled a memory in Killua's mind—it was a symphony, from Chopin, one that his mother had demanded he play in between his training sessions. He didn't associate it with good moments._

 _Finally, the guide knocked thrice—the first two knocks close, the last one more spaced out. A passcode disguised as common courtesy._

" _Come in," a voice ordered from the other side of the door._

 _The guide opened the door, briefly bowing as he announced Killua's presence._

 _The first thing Killua noticed was the luxurious, calculated decoration in the room. A white marble floor, white walls with golden linings, gemstone roses on a crystal table, an ivory piano on a burgundy carpet, a gold chandelier with translucent crystals… All of this unnecessary wealth displayed in an almost geometric, calculated way hurt his eyes. As though the room had been bleached of life, of flaws, of what made places look human, and all that remained was this aseptic, lifeless perfection._

 _Then only, he saw a man was sitting on a piano stool. He seemed in his sixties, with silver eyes and greying blond hair. He stood up, feigning to dust his seamless white suit, and bowed toward Killua with an easy smile._

" _Welcome, young man," he greeted after dismissing the guide. "I'm thrilled to finally meet you, a war hero at such a young age."_

 _Killua didn't share his joy. "I didn't come here to chat. Someone said you could help me."_

" _Indeed, I can," the man said. He gestured for Killua to follow him into the suite, the fake smile still plastered on his face. "But first, let me show you around. You see, I rarely have the opportunity to interact with such a bright personality as yours," he said as he came to a stop near a large wooden door, with golden linings and a strange inscription in Latin drawn in the lining._ Lilium Regale _, it said, with lilies drawn on the sides of the inscription. Killua wasn't a master in dead languages, but he was pretty sure it meant something along the lines of 'royal lily'._

" _Yeah, sure."_

 _The man invited him inside what Killua assumed to be his office. Just like in the previous room, Killua would never have guessed a human being lived there—everything, from the tiny pebbles in the crystal bowl to the folders on his desk, had been arranged with perfect symmetry. The office itself was a glaring, monochrome, disturbingly luminous white. A large desk sat in front of a floor-to-ceiling window that gave onto empty plains. Killua recognized those as the plains near the_ _Lijeea Mountains_ _, which meant, after considering his meeting location in a nearby city with the guide, that the underground passages led to the Lijeea Mountains. And this suite was located directly into one of the mountains._

 _He refrained a scoff at the deduction. For sure no one would care to look in a mountain for a deranged man obsessed with order and white stuff. And no one would be here to help Killua in case this was a trap._

 _Yet here he was, still in this man's office, very much aware of the hollow in his stomach begging him to turn back, his empty eyes still locating the nearest exits in case things went south. And decidedly staying._

 _He pictured Gon's charred, bony hand in his own. His frail form. His weak breathing._

 _It was enough to keep him going through hell if he had to._

" _This is my office," the man broke the eerie silence, his steps echoing on the marble floor. "All my transactions take place here." He swiveled toward Killua. "Oh but, pardon me, I haven't introduced myself. I am Amadeus."_

" _Okay. What do you want from me?"_

 _Amadeus chuckled. "Well, what an impatient young man you are. I like that, this thirst for some action you have." He raised both hands as Killua frowned. "Worry not, I have everything prepared for our arrangement, and I will walk you through this transaction step by step. I suppose it is your first time dealing with a trader such as myself?"_

 _Killua didn't like the sound of that. He had no idea what he was getting himself into, and he hated that helplessness that guided his way into this man's office._

 _He knew Amadeus was dangerous. It was written all over his face, in the lining of his fake smile, in the coldness of his silver eyes._

 _Killua was making a deal with the devil. And it was with this cold thought in his head that Killua nodded quietly to the man's question._

" _Alright. Well, you are lucky, I have everything prepared already and I will shortly explain our arrangement to you. Of course, you are free to turn back at any moment from this deal. I am not forcing you to do anything. With that in mind, shall I keep going?"_

 _Killua acquiesced._

 _Amadeus smiled._

" _Very well." He circled his desk, then pressed a button on an intercom engraved into the desk. "Bring the contract," he said to whoever was on the other side, and Killua's throat knotted at the words._

 _A contract._

 _A nen oath._

 _Amadeus surely noticed his reaction because he turned toward him with a reassuring expression. "Just so we are clear on this, the contract does not bind_ you _to do anything," he explained, and Killua relaxed slightly. "It is a nen contract forged with my abilities, but it binds_ me _to the cause you sign for. What this means is if you fulfill your end of the contract, I will be_ bound _to fulfill mine. If you choose to never answer to the contract's terms, you are free to do so, but at any moment, if you do your part of the contract, I will_ have _to do mine. The only constraint you have is that this contract can never be revoked, but to be very honest with you, that is more of a sore constraint for me than you," he finished with a polished laugh._

" _Why go for something so dangerous?" Killua asked, and he was startled by how cold he sounded. "Clearly that contract favors your customers."_

" _As all contracts should," Amadeus said. "Now, I do benefit from that. Surely you must know that the stronger a nen oath is, the stronger the power it offers is."_

 _Killua knew that. It was something Kurapika had explained to them when he had mentioned taking an oath to strengthen his powers in his quest against the Phantom Troup._

 _Now, after the devastating toll Gon's suicidal oath had taken on him, Killua wished Kurapika had never said a word to them._

" _Yeah, I know. So how can you help me?"_

" _Straight to the point, I see. Well, young man, I am what people in this country call a_ fazai _."_

" _I know, that's what they called you. What does it mean?"_

" _It's a fancy way to say nen exorcist."_

" _If it were, then people would say 'nen exorcist'," Killua argued. "What makes you so different, old man?"_

" _It depends, really. I'd say fazais are a subcategory of nen exorcists. I wish I could tell you more, but I myself do not necessarily know the extent of nen exorcism—you know how vast our world is."_

 _He was lying, but Killua didn't press him. "Okay. Just so you know, I've met nen exorcists before you. They all refused to help me. They said the curse was too strong."_

 _Amadeus shook his head. "You found the right person. I can assure you, if you do your part of the agreement, I will do mine. The worst-case scenario would be, well, my death. But your friend will be rid of his curse, whether I survive the exorcism or not."_

 _Killua frowned. "You'd risk your life for that?" he asked, his voice dripping with distrust._

" _It is for a greater cause," Amadeus answered, and Killua feared what he would ask in return for exorcising Gon's curse._

 _He didn't have time to voice his worries. The door opened once again, to a woman carrying a gold platter with a contract and a pen on it. She stood straight, her long black hair and brown skin contrasting against the white dress that hugged her slim figure. Her jet-black gaze was fixated in front of her—as though she saw nothing. She let the platter on the desk and briefly bowed her head to Amadeus, who was content with sporting that same insufferable insincere smile._

" _My most recent acquisition," he announced, gesturing toward the woman who then stood next to him, unmoving. "Keertana."_

 _Killua eyed Amadeus with disgust. "That's a_ person _, old man."_

" _A person I bought, which makes her an acquisition." He brushed her hair back behind her shoulder, eyes full of the wrong kind of tenderness—the kind one directed toward belongings. Not people. "A beautiful one."_

 _Killua rolled his eyes. "That's literally human trafficking, but go off, I guess."_

 _The man laughed. "Such an interesting specimen you are." He lay a hand on the woman's shoulder, and though Killua wasn't the one to be touched, he felt deeply unsettled by the contact. "I used to be like you, so full of this ideation that all are equal. That lives are priceless, and every individual should have autonomy." He let go of Keertana—who glanced at Killua with a curiosity that escaped Amadeus and broke the character she set up for him. "And then I grew up. I saw how the world treated others, and how some lives could be bought. Saw what some people did with autonomy—to others and to themselves. Whether you and I want it or not, equality remains an unrealistic utopia. Some people are born in conditions that set them up for success, and others are born in Tanalean slums. Tell me, why do some cultures kill their baby girls and pray for baby boys, if equality in worth really exists?"_

 _Killua frowned. "Fucked up assholes, that's why." Keertana might have smiled a little. "You implying they're right to kill babies?"_

" _Of course not. But humans are not equal—some are born with more rights, and some are born in savage cultures that strip them of a right to exist."_

" _Yeah, no, I think you mean 'privileges', not rights._ Everyone _has rights—they're just not respected. And you don't fix that with neo-slavery."_

" _Your insight is an oversimplification of a more global issue," Amadeus argued. He gestured toward Keertana. "Take Keertana, for instance. She was being sold by her village when I found her. Whether I took her in or not, she would have ended in the nasty cogs of human trafficking. Better offer her a respectful position within my team than let her end in a filthy brothel in Hejea, don't you think?"_

 _Was it really an offer, though? "So you fix an issue by being part of it, and then blame it on birthright."_

" _Birthright is precisely the issue. It's undeniable that some people are born with a burden on their back and shackles on their hands."_

 _Killua clicked his tongue. "Yeah, but the way you fix things_ is _the problem, idiot."_

 _Amadeus narrowed his eyes in interest. "Is it? To offer a woman an opportunity in a respectable life?"_

" _So to solve that, you buy girls and call them objects," Killua deadpanned. He glanced at Keertana, shivered under her intense gaze. A part of him felt terrible that he was speaking for her—he wasn't a white knight or a savior. Just a lost kid seeking help in all the wrong places. But even if he tried, he couldn't stay quiet in front of this hypocrisy. Birthright meant nothing. His birthright had been death and abuse until he ripped himself from his family. Some people didn't have a choice in the family they were born into; that didn't make them less worthy of opportunities. And people like Amadeus—who believed so deeply that they had a right to other people's autonomy, who stripped them of their freedom and called it a blessing, who claimed that their abuse was for the greater good, who thought they knew better than those they controlled—riled him up._

 _Killua had spent twelve years under the scrutiny of his family. Twelve years being told what to do, being fed lies about the world and himself, being reduced to what his family wanted him to be, just because he had their blood. He had had his barest freedom—freedom to think for himself, to love his sister, to have his own ideas, to make friends—taken from him. He had had his autonomy controlled by his older brother, by his father, by their power and their expectations. He still carried and would perhaps always carry the burden of his trauma—and at the same time, his terrible, awful apathy toward what had been done to him._

 _All because of one entitled family._

 _And this man was just like them._

 _But Amadeus just shook his head. "It's not that simple. I don't buy girls; I give them a better life. Buying Keertana was the only way to free her from her village; it was a means to an end, the end being offering a better future, in a protective environment, to a young woman who went her whole life abused by savages." He folded his hands together. "You will learn one day that women are like art. They are meant to be handled with caution and delicateness, to be cherished and admired. Like old treasures, fragile and soft. And yet we live in a world that is ruthless toward women—a world where being born a woman is a curse as much as it is a blessing. So much violence directed toward them, so many cultures torturing them, hurting them, using them. Which is why we must protect them. Which is why_ I _must protect them."_

 _Killua thought of Canaria, Tsubone, and Amane, the three butlers who had supervised his and Alluka's escape from his parents' mansion. He thought of Bisky, their nen master who had taught them to push their power to the limits. He thought of Aunt Mito, who had been raising her nephew since she was fourteen years old. He thought of Senritsu, Palm, Pakunoda, Machi, Shizuku, his own mother._

 _And he thought of Alluka, the bravest, strongest, most courageous person he knew._

 _They were all girls, or women, and at least half of them could kick his ass any time of the day._

 _Women weren't fragile. They didn't need protection. This man was just delusional._

" _I didn't come here to hear your half-assed stupid discourse," Killua finally gave up. There was no reasoning with a man like that. "Let me read the terms of the contract."_

 _He didn't imagine the amusement on Keertana's face, no matter how subtle it was. Something told him she was a lot more in control than she let on to the garbage who spoke of her like she was a thing. It made Killua curious—was Keertana really the victim Amadeus painted her to be? Was she really at his mercy? The sheer power in her aura said otherwise—quiet but dangerous. Killua wondered how Amadeus didn't feel it, or if he was delusional enough to ignore the raw strength—and threat— she hid beneath an unassuming mask. She bore the same kind of subtle darkness he had grown up to—that of a trained assassin prowling on its prey._

 _Amadeus didn't take offense in Killua's disdain. Instead, he gave the contract to Killua, who promptly started reading it._

 _It stated what Amadeus would do once Killua fulfilled his part of the contract in extensive details, but not what Killua had to do._

" _Do you have any question?" Amadeus asked, sensing the confusion._

 _Killua threw the contract on the desk. "Your contract doesn't say what I have to do."_

 _Amadeus's aura flowed quietly around him—and everything about it, from its dishonesty to its unnatural eeriness, from its abnormal strength to its dull numbness, made Killua's senses go alert._

" _I will help your friend, young man. But my ability has a price. And you will pay that price."_

 _Killua frowned. "Tell me the price."_

 _Amadeus showed a row of white teeth. "I want you to kill General Roa."_

 _And just like that, Killua signed for his last contracted kill._

* * *

 **Thursday, June 11th**

 **4:02 A.M.**

The night was quiet, the air soft and light on his skin as he sat on the couch in the balcony, his eyes riveted on the stars shining ahead. He leaned back until he was comfortable, and sighed.

He had always liked the late hours and the secrets they carried. The way the breeze seemed to whisper in the leaves and grass, the occasional bat flying from one tree to another, the dew that glistened on the small bushes. It soothed him, to be awake in hours when nobody else was, to share a moment with the entire ecosystem populating the night.

But tonight, he wasn't feeling the peace, and what was usually a therapeutic kind of isolation now became a heavy and burdensome loneliness. One where there was just him and his demons and the weight of his desperate actions. One where his nightmares reflected his past and his mistakes and the things he had done that were only seeing consequences now.

He felt lonely, and mostly, he felt guilty.

It had been months since Killua had last dreamed of Amadeus and his contract. With hindsight, he realized it was plain as day that the man would have found a way to trick him, and that all this transparency of his had only been a ploy to get what he wanted. And the more Killua thought about aura trading—about the way some nen users could trade memories, pain, life energy, even wishes—the more he feared for what Amadeus could have done with the curse he had exorcised. After all, trading was like an equivalent exchange from what Killua had gathered. Nothing was gained or lost—everything was transformed. And something told him Amadeus had been just as interested in Gon's curse as he had been in the General's death.

One of those things was starting to backfire, with the riots and the protests upon the new timely revelations about the General's death. And surely, that had been part of Amadeus's plan all along. And Killua had played right into his hands. Now, Killua just feared the consequences of the exorcism itself—what Amadeus could do with the pain he had traded from Gon's curse.

And yet Killua knew he would do it again if he had to. He would do anything, for the people he loved. And that thought alone terrified him, because he knew if all else failed, he would stop at nothing, give up anything, betray anyone, all out of love.

Even if it meant abandoning himself.

"Killua?"

He flinched, swiveling toward the sleepy voice. There was Hana standing near the couch, rubbing an eye with a hand, and supporting herself on the couch with the other. "Hana? Why aren't you sleeping?"

"Nightmares," she said, then sluggishly sat between his legs and nuzzled against him. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to him, gently. When she was nestled tightly against him, he lay a kiss in her neck, and his nightmares, though still present, were already lighter on his conscience. "You?" she added softly.

"Nightmares too." He lay a hand on her bare thigh, caressing it slowly while she awoke. "The Whisper?" he asked then, his voice coming out in soft breaths in her ear.

"Yeah. And you? Is it about what you told me earlier? Amadeus?"

"Mhm."

She said nothing. She simply rested against him and lay a hand on his arm snaked around her waist.

They stayed like this for a long moment. Both silent, but both aware of each other's presence—and each other's pain. And it was enough. To have her in his arms, to hold her and hold _to_ her, to touch her and listen to her regular and quiet breath.

It didn't make his issues disappear. It didn't dilute his trauma or tame his nightmares or kill his demons. But it made everything else better, and it was all he needed, all _they_ needed.

There were some nightmares that couldn't be shared, some nightmares they needed to process alone because no word could make them disappear.

But it always helped to know that when those nightmares happened, they wouldn't be alone.

Sometimes, being together was all they needed.

* * *

 **9:12 A.M.**

"Did you really have to make me come here at _9 in the morning_? It's inhumane to work this early."

"Well, we got a long day ahead of us, and we don't wanna waste a single second of that precious time. Or is a pizza not enough motivation for you?"

Hana rose her eyes from her coffee at the sound of the voices in the entrance corridor. She swiveled on her desk chair and soon enough, Killua opened the door to her working room with a grumpy Elias behind him and a plate with three steaming cups of tea in his hands. "Hi El," she greeted, just as her friend dropped on a nearby seat and sighed as loud as he could. "Nice to see you too."

"Elias, the pizza," Killua reminded as he carefully put the cups on the table. He then turned around, picked up the stack of papers he had delivered to Leanaj's private clinic room, and dropped it in front of Elias—who winced at the sight.

"I would give my life for this pizza, but I'm not sure that includes waking up at dawn," Elias said while disdainfully lifting the corners of the sheets to look beneath them.

Hana frowned. "What's up with you two thinking 9 A.M. is dawn? It's a perfectly reasonable time to work."

"Nuh-uh, don't put me in the same basket as him," Killua corrected. "I only complained when you woke me up on a _Sunday_ at 9 A.M. because, on weekends, it _is_ dawn."

Elias eyed her with a mixture of fear and disgust, all the while moving his chair farther away from her.

"You're both being overdramatic," she said, crossing her arms.

"She wakes you up at dawn on _weekends_?" Elias ignored her, showing a look of pure terror. "Hana, you _monster_."

" _I_ _know_. And the worst is that I let her," Killua added as he sat down. "Heh. What wouldn't I do for my girlfriend?"

At the mention of 'girlfriend', Hana's cheeks warmed with both with a blush and the goofiest grin she could manage, and Elias stopped the dramatic acting to eye them both in turn with shocked eyes. "Wait, so now you're not just a _thing_ , you're a _thing-thing_ , like, an _official_ couple."

Killua proudly nodded, wearing his usual smug smile. "Yep."

"Well fucking _finally_! That didn't take a long time _at all_ ," Elias deadpanned, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You've literally been married for like, what, a month? And it's only _now_ that you 'officially' date?"

"Oh shut up, will you?" Killua said.

"When did that even happen?"

Killua looked away for a moment. "… Yesterday."

Hana coughed. "Technically, it was today. Because it was past midnight." When Killua glared at her, she shrugged. "What? I'm just saying. It's a fact."

Elias sighed, and lay a hand on his chest. "Chapter forty, it's been eighty-four years, and they finally looked in each other's general direction," he started, his voice taking a theatrically sad tone. "They held their breath for a long moment before he admitted to himself and to her that his body released serotonin, oxytocin, and endorphin, for her. And only her."

Killua groaned, his cheeks taking a warm hue. "You're obnoxious. I took my time, and it happened, no need to fret."

Hana giggled. She had expected Elias to ceaselessly tease them about their long, _long_ hesitation, but she hadn't expected herself to like it that much. "Rest assured, we've done more than just look in each other's general direction."

"I'm aware, don't worry, your _boyfriend_ made a bold statement of it."

"I bet he did. I would too if I were to sleep with someone as hot as me."

Elias scoffed. "Pretty sure your boy said something similar. Something about how he's got crushes on himself sometimes. You two are really a perfect match. Insufferable, smug power couple." He narrowed his eyes. "Hey, since you're officially dating, does that mean I'm officially third-wheeling you?"

"You're more like, our annoying kid," Hana said.

"I'm older than both of you."

"Are you, really?"

"Hey, that hurt."

Killua feigned to roll his eyes at their exchange, but once Elias was done teasing them and back to complaining—his favorite hobby after teasing and flirting—, he glanced at her with a gentle smile that left her warm and giddy. She returned his smile with a grin of her own, hoping it conveyed exactly what she felt; excitement, joy, hope. And love.

Elias cleared his throat. "So, are we getting to work or are you gonna keep marveling at your own cheese forever?"

Killua widened his eyes. "You? Begging to work? You okay, El?"

"I'm just thinking of _my_ own cheesy girlfriend, which you've been owing me for, uhh…" he paused and counted on his fingers. "Exactly eleven days."

"Boy, if I had known you'd be so motivated for a pizza…" Killua thought aloud. "Luckily for you, I made some pizza dough while a certain someone got herself shot, so I can make some pizzas for lunch. But only if we work efficiently," he added as Elias's eyes shone with happiness.

"What are we even waiting for then?!"

Hana laughed, watching Killua sigh and pretend to be annoyed and Elias bring his chair closer and sit upright. They made one weird team, a team forged in pizza and flirty jokes, but really, that was what she loved the most about them.

* * *

"I dropped the bomb on Malzi yesterday," Killua started.

"… You didn't really blow his place up, did you?"

Killua gestured toward the stack of papers. "No, Elias, I did not. It was a figurative bomb."

Elias brought the stack toward him and started skimming through the documents. "I remember Hana printing some of those."

"They're what Killua used to blur the link to you," Hana explained. "He found a social worker's report that mentioned both Malzi and his mom, Leanaj. With that, we should be able to intimidate Malzi while keeping your abilities secret."

"Neat. So I guess we can expect that he'll lay low for a little while, then maybe move his mom somewhere else and start being a dick again."

"Precisely," Killua concurred. "I'm guessing that until he recovers and moves his mother to a new location, we've got enough time to plot our next move. I think our new priority is to find out who Malzi really is and expose him. He's a dangerous human hazard, has proved more than once that he'd go to incredible lengths to get what he wants, and we can't just let him roam around freely while he plans out how to get rid of us without getting his ass kicked. So if we can at least pin down his fake identity, we can have some leverage over him."

Elias raised his hand.

Killua cocked an eyebrow up as he stared at his friend. "Yeah, Elias?"

"So, stupid question probably but, would he stop if we just give back what belongs to him? Like, the bracelet and the comb, technically, they're his stuff. Maybe, I don't know, he's just gonna stop being a bad guy if we give him what he wants?"

"The problem isn't the comb," Hana started. "It's what he needs from the Tanalean rebels. If what he really wants is just to get his stuff back, he wouldn't have gone to such lengths to kill Eugene Priman, the HCDS president's daughter, and her fiancé. He wouldn't have contacted the rebels either. And what did Ziam Torana have that belonged to Malzi, why kill for it? There's more to it than just the jewels. If he was just trying to retrieve his mom's stuff, I'd be more than happy to give the comb back. But until we know who he is and what he wants from the rebels, we should keep the jewels. It gives us ground to bargain in case we have to negotiate with him, and…" she stopped, eyeing Elias with interest. "And you could still find hints inside of those jewels."

"Besides, now that we know he's with the rebels somehow, we're all in risk of his special 'you know too much' treatment," Killua added.

Elias shrugged. "Yeah, makes sense. We need that advantage over him," he said, though he sounded unconvinced.

Hana reached for his arm. "Hey, I know what you're thinking. But he's nothing like you."

"I wasn't thinking that," Elias tried, acting offended. But as Hana raised an eyebrow, he sighed. "Okay, maybe I was doing a little projecting here. You know, the whole 'retrieving your parents' stolen belongings' and stuff."

"I know. But you're not killing any innocent people in the process, or joining dubious rebels planning to overthrow governments. Besides, we don't know why he's seeking those jewels or even if they were stolen."

"Yeah, he leans more toward the homicidal asshole side than the goofy pizza-lover one," Killua joked.

Elias smiled. "Yeah, I guess. So what's the plan?"

"First, find as much as we can about Malzi," Killua announced. "For that, we have the comb, the bracelet, his and his mother's names, the cases around the deaths he caused—especially Ziam Torana—and we know he is most likely an agent at the HCDS concealing himself under another identity."

"We also have Erik Faem," Hana said.

"For what?" Elias asked. "If you're thinking of beating him up until he talks, count me in."

She chortled. "No, I was thinking about something more in the line of investigating his past. Or well, his father's. Maybe we could find something about a new identity Anthony Chevalier forged for Malzi when he was little."

"Sounds good to me," Killua agreed. "I also need to go visit Arashi today, to take the books Kai recommended and maybe search Eugene's stuff." He sighed. "Again."

"What books?" Elias asked.

Hana looked away, then back at Elias. "It's for a personal case of mine, and Killua is helping. It's not related to Malzi."

" _Ohhh_ , I get it. You guys keep _secrets_ from me, okay. That's fine. Totally fine."

"No, it's not like that at all," Hana hurriedly said. "It's just—complicated."

Elias crossed his arms and tipped his chin upward. "I'm so offended right now."

Though she knew Elias was joking, Hana couldn't help wondering if he didn't really feel left out. She had never really told him about the Whisper, even less about her own involvement—and trauma— with him. It felt strange to keep this secret from Elias when they had grown so close. Mostly, it felt wrong.

" _Heeeey_ ," Elias's voice interrupted her thoughts. He stood up from his chair and hurried to her side, and soon enough, his arms were shackled around her shoulders as he pulled her in a clumsy embrace—a position that felt awkward because Elias could sometimes forget that though she was no petite girl, he definitely was no dwarf either, and his muscular arms were choking her. Yet she let him because the contact felt reassuring. "I'm kidding, baby girl. You're allowed to have your secrets."

She smiled, closing one eye as his stubble stung her. "I know. I just don't want you to feel left out."

"Aw, you cutie. No worries." He let her go and ruffled her hair as he stood upright. "I'll live with your betrayal."

Killua coughed. "So, are you done cuddling, you two? We were talking about our plans to expose a homicidal villain's identity. Just to remind you."

"What, you jelly that I get to hug your _girlfriend_?"

"If only you knew the things _I_ get to do with _my_ girlfriend," Killua said, shrugging as Elias laughed.

Hana chuckled. "I'm feeling like such a romcom heroine right now, with two guys fighting over me."

"Yeah, until you know one of those guys tried to bang the other," Killua mumbled, which doubled Elias's laughing fit.

"I'd read the hell out of that, you know," Hana said. "Kudos if the story ends with a threesome. I mean, it makes more sense. Why in the world would a girl in the middle of a love triangle be confused? She has the perfect opportunity to get _double dick_ , who says no to that?"

Elias finally caught his breath. "End all love triangles with threesomes, that's it, everyone gets dicked down together, end of story, happy ever after."

"You two are so insufferable, you should date each other instead," Killua muttered.

Hana puckered her lips at him. "Right, because you're _soooo_ mature and adult and serious." She turned toward Elias. "Yesterday he sent me a pic of a lizard with no caption or explanation. And when I asked for one he just texted 'scaly boi' and that was it, and I still have no idea what that meant."

"Maybe you'd like to explain the double-chin selfies _you_ send me," Killua threw back, and though he was pretending to be annoyed, a smile was peeking on his lips.

Elias leaned toward Hana, feigning to whisper. "I think your boy is part of the lizard people."

"That would actually explain a lot."

"Explain what?" Killua asked, and when she turned around, she found his nose only inches from hers, a decisive frown on his face. "Your theory sounds fun. How about you share it with me?"

Hana blinked innocently, then as Killua narrowed his eyes, she swiftly left a little peck on his lips and grinned at him.

Killua stood upright, startled. His face went through various states—confusion, outrage, disbelief, and, of course, that very special giddiness he felt just for her. He finally sighed. "That was too cute for me to stay mad. I give up."

"Yay, I win!"

Elias whistled. "Man, I wish I had that special power."

"It only works on him," she admitted.

Killua threw his arms in resignation. "Alright, we get it, I'm completely smitten for you, now can we work? I have a mobster widow to catch this afternoon."

Hana elbowed Elias. "He's smitten for me," she giggled, although her own cheeks were burning with the grin digging through them. To hear Killua admitting it out loud was… quite an experience. Her heart was skittering in her chest at the excitement.

"He's smitten for you," Elias said in return.

" _Guys._ "

Elias raised his arm. "I can analyze the comb and the bracelet. Leave that to me."

"Okay, good! Finally something productive. Never thought it'd come from you of all people," he added while staring pointedly at Hana, who feigned innocence. "I might also need you to come with me to Arashi's mansion to find if there's any hint about Eugene's connection with Malzi. Especially how he knew Malzi was working with the Tanalean rebels."

Elias narrowed his eyes. "So basically, I'm the only one working."

Killua shrugged. "Give me a memory-reading ability and I might be able to help with that. Until then, it's up to you to be our window to the past. Only if you want to, of course."

"In the meantime, I can try to look for Ziam's implication with Malzi," Hana suggested.

A loud sigh was all Elias gave as an answer until both of his friends were looking at him. Hana with curiosity, and Killua with mild impatience—and perhaps a hint of amusement.

"Alright, I'm in. For the pizza."

* * *

 **3:20 P.M.**

"That pizza was _so_ worth it."

Even as they were on their way to Arashi's grand mansion, Elias couldn't forget the gorgeous cheesy masterpiece they had had for lunch, courtesy of none but Killua. He still remembered the perfect balance of dough, tomato, cheese, and basil, an otherworldly poem awakening his senses with its rich flavor and tender warmth. And the duality—of the crispy edges and the mellow center, of the sweet tomato and the salty cheese—was edged into his mind as a distant memory of happiness would.

He already missed it.

"It's pretty easy to make," Killua said. "I could teach you if you liked it that much."

"Yeah no, you don't want me anywhere near a kitchen. Pretty sure I'd make an oven explode just by looking at it." He smirked. "I'm just too hot, not even an oven can handle me."

"That was terrible, El. I don't even know what to say."

"You're just jealous. I'm sure your girlfriend would have appreciated my hilarious joke."

Killua scoffed. "Hana isn't exactly a reference in terms of humor either."

"I'll tell her you said that."

"Sure. Go ahead. You can also add that I think she's a huge nerd."

"Uh-huh, and that you're completely smitten for her."

"…"

They reached the massive steel portal barring the entrance to the Priman estate. Killua pressed a button on the nearby intercom, announcing their presence to the maid who answered the call.

"Are you sure it's safe to go through there?" Elias asked after the maid asked them to wait.

"Should be. Arashi flushed out the infiltrator. Besides, Faem already knows you work with us."

"Sure, I guess."

Yet, as soon as the portal opened and they were in the estate, the atmosphere changed.

Elias felt something looming upon them, something that breathed with the wind and hummed in the leaves and brushed the blades of grass lining the cobblestone passage to the mansion. And from the look on Killua's face—or lack thereof—he felt nothing.

Elias kept quiet as they walked on the stones, his eyes scanning the vicinity for any presence that could disrupt the calm. His gaze searched in the bushes filled with berries and the little pond hidden behind an old cherry tree, but there was nothing.

That changed when they crossed an archway covered with vines and flowers. The wind carried a child's laugh, and Elias flinched, instinctively turning toward the sound. He left the cobblestone path and went after the sound, his steps muffled by thick tufts of grass.

"El?" Killua called, and his voice sounded worried, but Elias kept going anyway until Killua followed him. "Elias, what's wrong?"

"There's a child here," he explained, reaching for the trunk of a tree as he focused, again, on the eerie sound.

"I don't feel any presence," Killua argued, but he kept following him anyway.

The sounds amplified until they reached a clearing, with a little patch of sunlight poking through the foliage.

There, a little girl was lying, with a dog as big as she was, wiggling its tail as she laughed and ruffled the animal's muzzle.

Elias stayed speechless. The closer he walked, the more different he felt. Grass tickling his back and fur warm against his hand, even though he was standing, and his hands were empty.

That was how he realized.

"You found the kid?" Killua said. His voice was void of doubt, though he had every reason to not believe Elias. For that trust, Elias was grateful.

"Yeah."

The little girl then jumped on her feet. _'Aristotle Fluffy!'_ she called, then she started running after the dog and disappeared.

"Is she some sort of ghost? Made of nen or something?"

The clearing still vibrated with the little girl's presence. Elias still heard her high-pitched laughter dripping with joy, echoing farther and farther in the estate.

"No," Elias answered. "She's a memory."

* * *

"I've never felt memories tied to a place," Elias explained as they picked up their pace to not be late on their meeting with Arashi. "It's always been a specific object and it's always been because of the memory's owner's aura. Not… that. Whatever that was."

"You still hear her?"

For sure the little girl was still here. Admonishing her dog, Aristotle Fluffy, for running off after a squirrel 'like a little scoundrel'. "Yeah. This entire place is filled with memories of her."

"And you're sure it's not a hallucination?"

"I'm sure. I get the same feeling I have when I use Time Seeker, except more oppressing."

Killua frowned. "If you want us to turn back now, it's not too late; for all we know those memories were placed there to lure you. Surely a memory trader could do that."

"No, it feels too authentic. Besides, you said there was no one around. And the little girl is alone—those aren't someone's memories, not even hers. They're this place's memories."

Killua pursed his lips. "That's creepy. You make it sound like the estate is alive."

"It feels that way to me."

"You gonna be okay?" Killua asked, worry peeking through his voice.

Elias wasn't sure he would be alright, not with the memories permeating this place demanding his attention and overwhelming his senses. The little girl cuddling her dog, riding a horse, painting on a giant blanket with her hands and feet, giggling as she tried to climb a tree… She was everywhere, and mostly, she was in his head, and the forced stimulation of his mind and aura was starting to get… heavy, to say the least.

"I should be fine," he said anyway, trying to tuck away the unwelcome sounds and the implications on his abilities that came with it.

Arashi was waiting for them at the top of the large staircase leading to the entrance. In a pale yellow kimono adorned with white flowers, she stood tall and bright and radiant.

The little girl hopped near Arashi, though the woman didn't see her. 'Mommy, mommy!' she would say in her ghostly voice, and in the vivid memory, a pale double of Arashi in a blue yukata would bend to greet her daughter.

Elias blinked. Arashi was still standing atop the staircase, unaware of her pale double playing with her ghostly daughter. "Welcome, you two. Thank you for coming. How was your day?" she asked, gesturing for them to enter the mansion.

"Pretty good. Thanks for having us," Killua replied. Elias tore his eyes from the little girl who was now lying on the ground, pretending to be too tired to take a bath.

"I'm the grateful one." She turned toward Elias, who, feeling her scrutiny, returned her gaze. "And I'm glad to finally meet you, Elias."

Elias opened his mouth, wondering if there was a trace of sarcasm in her voice that he hadn't caught—he _was_ the one who had unknowingly sold the gadgets to Mulgrad that had gotten her husband kidnapped. And though he had had no idea at the time what his gadgets would be used for, he did have a part of the responsibility. "Uh, same here."

"I heard Hanaiko got hurt; how is she?"

"She's better," Killua said. "She's recovering pretty fast."

"I'm glad to hear that. If I had doubted a second that something so dreadful would happen, I would have taken more measures to ensure her safety."

Killua exhaled. "You and me both. But he had us by surprise."

Arashi led them through the bright hall, her wooden shoes clacking against the marble stairs. Colorful paintings covered the tall walls of the hall and a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling cast sparkled all around them. Elias could have been enchanted by the marvelous art displayed there if it weren't for the little ghost hopping on the stairs along them, with her acolyte 'Aristotle Fluffy'.

"I took care of firing Oscar and found out he was hired back by Erik Faem," Arashi said, and Elias assumed Oscar was the name of the infiltrator Killua had mentioned earlier. "He didn't waste his time."

"You're better off like that," Killua said. "It's safer to stay surrounded with people you can trust."

"Just as you say."

When they were at the top of the staircase, Arashi walked them through a large corridor, passing a few closed doors adorned with wall lamps. At the end of the corridor, a young woman stood in a butler suit, her brown hair styled in a stylish bun. She looked nervous, with her eyes unable to settle and her hands clasped together. She bowed at the sight of Arashi.

"This is Zarna, the new head butler of this mansion," Arashi introduced after she bowed her head to return the respectful gesture.

When Zarna stood up, her eyes fell on Killua and Elias behind Arashi. They both greeted her, Elias a bit awkwardly—because apparently awkward was his middle name—and Killua as naturally as ever. The young butler returned their greetings with another bow—and almost banged her head against the wall as she stood back up. She blushed furiously, murmuring an apology that Arashi gently brushed off.

Arashi opened the door while casting a playful gaze toward the young butler. "Follow me," Arashi then instructed.

Zarna waited outside while Elias followed Arashi and Killua. He noticed the little girl was already in the room, sitting at the desk with a pencil and a white sheet of paper. She was kicking her feet, lost in thought for inspiration for her drawing. How did Elias know? He wasn't sure.

Arashi gestured toward a loveseat and a few armchairs ordered around a coffee table. "So, tell me. I'm listening," she said as they sat down.

Killua leaned forward. "We've retrieved the bracelet, and Hana impaired the smoke nen user. We suspect he is named Malzi and is a close friend of Erik, and we found out his motivations, though they are still blurry."

Arashi frowned. "Tell me about those motivations."

"It seems like the comb and the bracelet both belong to him, or at least to his mother."

"His mother?"

"Yes. She is still alive, though barely. I'm assuming her belongings were missing or stolen and Malzi tried to retrieve them."

Arashi shook her head. "Eugene would have returned anything to that man. I doubt he died for missing jewels alone."

Killua exhaled. "He didn't. This is the tricky part—because it's just a theory so far— but I think your husband was killed because he knew too much."

"Too much about what?" Arashi asked, hints of impatience breaching her focus.

Killua hesitated. "If he has word that you know, he will come after you," he warned, weighing his words.

Her gaze was unwavering. "I'm ready to take this risk."

"Alright," Killua said. "Malzi is dealing with Tanalean rebels—for some obscure reason. Somehow, your husband probably knew that—and other things that compromised Malzi's anonymity. Nothing is sure just yet but I'm guessing this is the reason your husband was kidnapped and killed. It makes sense if you consider Malzi and Erik Faem's affiliation with Mulgrad, who was well-known for his weapon smuggling and had been taking trips to Tanalea lately."

Arashi folded her hands together on her lap, her gaze lost in remembrance. "It does make sense, although I am still confused, but I'll take your word for it. I will tell Penelope about it and will ask her to monitor the Faem household for any contact with the Tanalean rebels. Do you have any lead regarding his link with the rebels?"

"Not yet. We don't know how they became allies or why he needs the rebels, but we do know they started working together through Mulgrad. Mulgrad agreed to help Faem kidnap your husband because your husband was about to expose Mulgrad's activities and because Faem was ready to rally Mulgrad's business with the rebels." He crossed his arms. "As I said, so far, it's a theory, but it stands. I have a very strong inclination to think it's true."

"And I believe you. I suppose a link with the leaders of a rebellion would be worth killing over, for someone like him," she said, and her voice was filled with disdain. "Now, do you know how my husband got involved with that secret?"

Elias glanced at Killua, mentally preparing himself to talk. "I have an ability that helped me gather the hints," he said. "I'd rather not say too much, both for your sake and mine, but I think if I investigate your husband's stuff I could maybe find how he got involved."

Arashi remained quiet as Elias spoke, nodding slightly when he finished. "Alright. Zarna will lead you to Eugene's office. When you're done, tell her to show you the library—I figured Killua needed some books, so we will be there. Is that alright with you?"

Elias was about to reply when the little ghost suddenly gasped. She hopped off the chair and ran through the door, all the while shouting ' _I have an idea!_ ' and giggling like only child ghosts knew how to. He watched her erratic movements until she was out of the room, but was reminded that only he could see her when Arashi called him for what he assumed wasn't the first time. "Is something wrong?" she asked. Killua, too, looked mildly worried.

"I'm fine. And yeah, I'll do that," Elias said.

He got up and promptly left the room.

* * *

The entire way to Eugene Priman's office, the butler, Zarna, had been silent.

Elias assumed it was because her last attempts to talk hadn't been fruitful when he was focused on the memories that swarmed this place—there was the little girl with her ghostly laugh sliding down the staircase on her butt while vocalizing. Even as ghost memories, children could be so resourceful and… loud.

He also suspected it had something to do with their inability to form normal conversations.

For instance, Zarna has asked him, "do you come here often?" then had looked as though she wanted the ground to open and swallow her. It was strange enough that she was talking to him, let alone that she looked uneasy and almost intimidated by him— _him_ , the Least Intimidating Guy in The World.

Elias, intrigued by her question and her willing though clumsy conversation starter, had replied, "not really. First time coming here." And then he had cursed himself for his own lack of interesting reply.

That was how they had given up on talking.

When Zarna left Elias in Eugene's office, he found the little ghost already waiting there, browsing through books that were practically as tall as she was. Elias stared at her, remembering the way she had called Arashi her mother. He had never heard about the Primans having a daughter, and the mansion was as silent as what could be expected of a widow's mansion. No child seemed to live here, except in memories.

He tried to brush off the girl's overbearing presence and focused on his aura. He let it flow around him until the locket conjured in his hand.

Then, he breathed. Inhaled, exhaled. In, out. In—

' _Ladies and gents, it is time for the greatest showdown! Birdie! Snailork! Who will win this fight for the throne of Dinoland?!'_

He opened one annoyed eye, glancing at the little girl lying on the floor with a plastic snail and a bird plushie that was twice as big. Besides the fact that the fight looked incredibly skewed—that bird was _way_ too big to fight the tiny snail—the noises certainly weren't going to help him focus.

He ignored the girl and tried to focus on his aura.

' _Bleuuuurgh, and so Birdie dies like a loser, because Snailork wins with the power of friendship! Never underestimate a snail, my dear audience. Words from Aurora!'_

He sighed.

Any other time, Elias would have marveled at such display of childish imagination uttered by a memory. A literal memory. But when he was trying to work—the few times he was even trying to do something remotely close to work—he lost patience for the things he would usually have gladly given his attention to. The memories in this place were making his head hurt, and though the wondrous deus-ex-machina this little girl had pulled was amusing, her presence was consuming his energy. All this aura he unwillingly used to see her, he could be using it to work. But instead, this estate's memories were pulling him into their nest—and every time he used Time Seeker, they would interfere.

There was only one thing left to do then: wait.

And so, Elias waited. He watched as the girl, who he had learned was named Aurora, drew on the wall of Eugene's wall and hastily covered her doodles by pushing a chest in front of them. He waited for her to finish her drawing of a Super Intersidereal Rocket—on a white sheet of paper she had borrowed from her father's office, rather on a wall this time. And finally, he breathed when she decided to try to build this magnificent rocket and left the office in search of 'space rocks' and cardboard and chocolate muffins, among other material.

Only then did the room truly fall silent, and Elias could focus on his work.

He started by gathering the energies in the room. His aura flowed around him, picking up old fragments scattered around the office as he moved within it, letting his hands hover over potential memory holders. He closed his eyes and made his nen his only sight.

The office became different then. With his eyes closed and his senses channeled around his aura, he felt the memories that permeated this place as though they had a presence. They were small and subtle, much subtler than the loud memories of the ghostly child, but they were there, little cameos trapped between the pages of a book or the plumpness of a cushion or the tip of a pen lying on a desk.

Elias sucked in a breath. His connection to memories had never been so strong. He could feel when a specific object held a memory, but never like this, never on this scale. Something about this mansion amplified his power just like it claimed it when it made him see the ghost child.

And the sensation—the surge of his power, the memories that called to him, the strange belonging nested in his core—was nothing like he had ever known.

All these memories, all these slivers of moments Eugene Priman had lived, hidden in his lost belongings… they were all within Elias's reach. It had never been easier to grab a memory and read it—it was almost as exhilarating as it was confusing.

Mostly, it was terrifying. This abundance of memories—as through Eugene's whole life was squeezed into this office—was disconcerting at the very least, overwhelming and terrifying at most. As though it wasn't just his power that the mansion amplified, but the memories within as well. Because one thing Elias was sure of was that objects rarely kept that many memories unless they were directly infused into them or associated with strong emotions. And clearly, from their content, most of which Elias skipped because of its nature and privacy, none of them had been willingly placed there. This place was harnessing memories, enhancing them, and keeping them.

One of these memories called to him louder than the others. Instinctively, Elias moved toward it, his hands feeling for the object that so clearly reached for him. It was a pen. Cold upon touch, heavy but slim, the kind worn in the breast pocket of an expensive suit, but not as a decorative piece. It had been used and used and used again, carried loads of memories that danced along Elias's fingertips—and probably in worn out notebooks as well.

So Elias focused on this one pen, the space of a memory.

And he started digging.

* * *

"Here are your books. _The Wrath of Gods and Goddesses: Encyclopedia of the Hansifa Mythology,_ and _Kainaj an Nas,_ history of the Hansifa clan _."_

Killua took the two heavy volumes. Their weight was reassuring, and so was the callous surface of their old leather covers. With them, maybe they could finally pinpoint the Whisper's origins—and with it, tame Hana's trauma. "Thank you. I'll return them whenever I can," he assured.

"Keep them as long as you need. What did you say you needed them for?"

He hadn't said anything. "A personal case of mine. It's not linked to Malzi—or at least, I hope not." He turned around, taking a broader look at the endless rows of books resting on shelves thrice as tall as he was. He could get lost in there if he wasn't paying attention, but Arashi found her way in the maze of leather-bound volumes as naturally as she could breathe. "Do you know anything about the Hansifa clan?"

"I'm afraid not. I haven't read those books yet—I haven't had much time to read lately."

"I bet," Killua said, then mentally smacked himself for the snarky comment. "You have quite the phenomenal library," he changed the topic.

Arashi smiled. "Eugene build it for me. It was my wedding gift." She chuckled, as though she remembered something. "When we got married, he asked me what I wanted as a gift. I told him I just wanted a few books." She gestured toward the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled to the brim with books, the shelves carved into the walls holding old scrolls packed together, the large volumes ledged between roots that climbed the surface to the top, high above them. "This is what he understood as 'a few books'."

Killua followed the vines that crawled into the inside of a dome crowning the library. "He didn't do things by half."

"He never did."

Her voice was nostalgic as she remembered her husband, and Killua wondered if it had been a good idea to ask about the library. But as they walked along the shelves, a title caught his attention.

 _Zaimana: the Art of Aura Trading_

Without thinking, Killua picked up the book and opened it on a page of the traditional nen principles—ten, ren, zetsu, hatsu. His eyes flew over the detailed descriptions of Tai and Zei—the two categories of aura, also called Crafters and Traders, and his conversation with Wing rewound in his mind.

"You can keep this book if you want to."

Killua flinched, startled out of his reading. He closed the book. "Sorry, that was rude of me."

Arashi shook her head. "I will never blame anyone for answering a book's call." She stared at the book. "I read this one a few years ago. It was really insightful. I believe it helped me control my aura's flow better—though I am not a trader, some of their practices can be extremely useful for crafters as well."

Killua blinked. "You… know nen?"

Arashi laughed, a bright and velvety laugh, and for a moment Killua wondered if he had said something funny. "I sometimes forget that I haven't quite made a reputation for myself in Megamshill. Yes, I _am_ a nen user." She smiled, a bit daringly. "I'm pretty good, too."

"I had no idea," Killua said, chastising himself for his ignorance. How could he miss out on something so important? And yet, he felt no burst of aura around her—always the tranquil rivulet most people emitted before awakening their aura. "I've never felt you using your nen."

"I don't blame you. I've learned to control the flow of my aura to the point where it's barely noticeable. It helps with focusing immensely—I see it as a meditation practice and would recommend it to anyone. Holding large bursts of aura can be as consuming as taming it to a quiet and unassuming veil. And mostly, switching from the two of them in a timely manner can sometimes be—" she let her aura explode around them, and Killua instinctively jumped back at the sudden power she exuded. It was raw, uninhibited, terrifying. It was a storm blazing through her person, a whirlpool that she was the absolute master of. "—Crucial."

Then her aura was back to the quiet flow.

Killua stared at her as he never had, humbled by the storm she hid behind such a calm composure. "Impressive," he said, a smile on his lips. "Good thing you're on our side."

An enigmatic smile was all he got for an answer.

* * *

 **5:36 P.M.**

Elias was exhausted. Completely burned out. Drained of all his energy. His head felt heavy with all the memories he had absorbed from that one single _pen_ , and though he now knew why Malzi had killed Ziam Torana and how Eugene Priman had discovered his affiliation with the Tanalean rebels, he didn't have the energy to rejoice or celebrate or even give himself a pat on the back.

He just wanted to go home.

"Are you okay?"

He opened his eyes to the sound of Zarna's timid voice. "I'll be fine," he answered, though really, he wondered how bad he looked for her to see through his tiredness. He assumed it wasn't pretty.

When they reached the library, everything got worse. As soon as Zarna pushed the door open and let him in, he felt a surge of memories so great he almost stumbled from the knockback. It took him a moment to focus and see in front of him—hundreds of memories, some of people they didn't even know, were mingling around the library. Hundreds of different lives shivering and claiming him and pounding in his head like a damn hammer. He grunted, reaching for his forehead, struggling to follow Zarna or even to hear her voice in this mess of different pitches and tones and colors and shades. He wasn't sure how he managed to keep up with her, or if they had found Killua and Arashi, or even if he was still with Zarna. For all he knew, he was alone and lost in this labyrinth.

"Because he's most likely an HCDS agent, I'd rather not contact the HCDS just yet—at least until we weed out the potential suspects."

Elias stopped walking. He knew that sharp, silvery voice—it was Killua's. It stood out from the rest. _He_ stood out from the memories. The one tether to reality in this maze of memories. His anchor to the present when the past was trying to pull him in its nest.

"Elias, you're back," Killua said, and Elias wasn't sure what to reply when gratitude—for this instant of reality, for this interlude as small as it was—was all he felt.

Elias opened his mouth to reply, but pain lashed through his head at this moment. He grunted, reaching for his forehead once again as the memories clawed at his skull. Through slits, he faintly saw Killua walking toward him—and behind him, the little Aurora, though she was a pale version of the sunny child wandering in the corridors. The laughs had faded, the games had stopped. Here she was, tripping, falling, fainting. In a wheelchair pushed by her father. Bald, weak. Deathly thin.

And then she was no more, and grief filled him like it had once filled her parents. The tragedies of this family crawled and clung to him—Arashi's tears, her cries, her despair. Her small bottle of pills in her hand as she considered the unthinkable, as she considered what he had tried once and would always rest as a dull scar across his wrist.

Her numbness, when her husband's corpse had been exhumed.

Her glances toward the balcony—toward the endless void beneath it, a quick and painless death.

Elias saw all of it. All the pain this mansion carried. All the ghosts that haunted it. All the memories that cursed it with eternal remembrance. The same memories rooted in this library that claimed him as one of theirs.

He saw all of it, until he didn't anymore.

He passed out from exhaustion.

* * *

"El!"

Killua didn't think when he rushed to Elias's fainting form, catching him before his body hit the ground. He lowered him to the ground, gently tapping his cheek to wake him up. "El, what happened?" he asked, but all Elias simply groaned in pain.

Arashi sidled up to him. "Is he alright?" she inquired, her voice filled with shock and concern.

"I'm not sure. I think he's exhausted." He moved Elias against his back, then stood up, his hands clasping Elias's thighs to support him on his back. "I'll bring him home. Thanks for your help, Arashi."

She shook her head. "Thank you, for this update. Just let me know if you need anything, and tell me if Elias is alright."

"Will do." He glanced at the young butler, who was fidgeting with the hem of her jacket, wide worried eyes settled on Elias. "Hey, he'll be fine, don't worry," he told her, and she blushed, her eyes darting away.

"Let me walk you to the door," Arashi suggested, gracefully showing the way. Killua followed her, after making sure Elias was stable on his back. His breath was feverish against Killua's neck, but he seemed alright.

When they exited the library, Elias's breath slowed down. Killua wondered what it was about the library that made Elias feel so agitated. Or simply, what it was about this _place_ that made his power act up. He had a feeling the answer could be found in the book Arashi had lent him, about aura trading. There was no doubt to him that Elias was a memory trader, so maybe there were some subtleties about aura trading that had made Elias's nen collapse on itself.

"Oh, Killua?" Arashi called him, interrupting his thoughts. "I've sent in your payment yesterday. You should receive it soon enough."

"A payment? I believe we hadn't discussed a payment just yet," Killua argued.

"No, you're right, we didn't. By all means, if it's not enough, let me know. I simply figured after everything you've done, I owed you a little financial compensation. I'll send in the rest once the case is closed." She paused. "If it ever is."

Killua smiled. "Alright, thanks. I'll let you know, but you really didn't have to pay me right now; I think we're far from done. I appreciate it though."

She returned his smile.

Killua left her, then, after one last glance at her proud stature atop the marble stairs. He had to give it to her that for someone who had lost so much, being able to still stand tall was a feat in itself. She was a warrior—one who fought with intelligence and grace, a dangerous combination.

It was only when they were far from the mansion that Elias started moving again. He was still weak, but Killua heard him mumble something unintelligible, and slowed down his pace to let his friend focus more easily. "Elias?" he called him gently. "Are you with me?"

"What happened?" Elias asked in a groggy voice.

"You fainted, in the library."

Elias groaned. "Shit. Did I ruin the mission?"

Killua smiled. "That wasn't a mission, dork. And besides, we did everything we had to do." He paused, pursing his lips and frowning. "I'm worried about you," he admitted, and the words came to him more easily than he'd have expected them to. "You gave me a good scare when you passed out like that. How are you feeling?"

Elias stayed silent for a moment. "When you speak like that, I get the feeling I'll never get over my crush on you," he quietly said, and Killua felt a twinge in his chest.

"I'm genuine."

"I know."

He sighed softly. "I guess if you're back at wooing me, that means you feel better, right?" he joked, his voice a quiet murmur.

Elias chuckled. "Yeah. I feel a bit better. It's just that Arashi's mansion was too much for me. There's something about this place that makes my abilities go crazy—and amplifies them." He fell silent, the kind of silence that announced a decision he was upturning in his head. "I want to go back there someday. It's scary but that place… the way it worked with my ability, it was incredible. I need to know more."

"If it helps you understand the phenomenon, I'm all for it. Arashi is well-versed in nen, you could ask her. I'm sure it has something to do with aura—and memory trading."

"I think so too." He paused. "Hey, Lua, I know how Eugene learned about the rebels."

Killua's attention perked at the words. "You got the info?"

"Yeah. He overheard an argument between Olivia and Erik Faem. She was mad at him for considering an alliance with the rebels. I guess he was considering it before even joining Mulgrad, and when he knew that Eugene knew, it cemented his partnership with Mulgrad."

"It makes sense," Killua said. "You did awesome."

He felt Elias smile on his shoulder. "It's not all. Ziam was Malzi's brother. During the argument, Olivia mentioned it. She said someone who was able to kill their own brother shouldn't be trusted. Can't blame her for saying that."

Killua's eyebrows knitted together. "Ziam Torana was Malzi's brother? But you only saw Leanaj with one boy when she asked to work for Anthony Faem."

He mumbled something Killua didn't get. "Dunno man. Their family sounds fucked up," he then added.

It was one way to put it, but it was accurate. "Yeah. But anyway, that's precious information you got us there. Good job, El."

"Man, I love when you're nice to me."

"I'm always nice."

"Excuse you?"

"I made a pizza for you at lunch, how am I not nice?"

"You'll need a lot more pizzas for me to think you're actually nice."

"You're just trying to get more pizzas, aren't you?"

Elias rested his head on Killua's shoulder, sighing of exhaustion. "Maybe. I like when you make stuff for me. You sure Hana doesn't want to share?"

Killua's lips tipped up. "Ask her yourself."

"I like how you're not even trying to fight it. Not that I blame you—I'm such a catch. If you're into depression and pizza, that is."

"So you're saying your personality is half depression, and half pizza," Killua concluded. "What about your rad bisexuality?"

"That's all of me, baby. A hundred percent bi material. And like, there's probably room for shitty memes too."

"Ah, now that's my boy."

Elias shook with a quiet laugh. "That sounded so dirty, I'm not even sure why."

"You're just a horny mess, El."

"Horny, exhausted, and hungry."

"The holy trinity."

"And bi."

"That's not a trinity anymore," Killua complained.

"The holy fournity. Quadnity. Quadrinity."

"Just say 'the holy four stuff'."

Elias laughed, again. He rambled on—something about pizzas and wanting to cuddle a puppy, that made him laugh tiredly on Killua's back—until he passed out. Killua kept a gentle pace so to not wake him up.

He considered, as he rounded a deserted street with flowering trees bordering the way, the wonder that was Elias. A young man who had seen hell as a boy and had grown through it, fought through it, _survived_ it, and yet who could still find humor in situations where he was weak and exhausted. A boy who in his trauma had forged a power that millions couldn't even fathom to create—a window to the past, to the truth, to the things that were forgotten and buried by the time that flowed. And a friend, really. A friend who cared so immensely, with all the vulnerability such a love entailed. A friend who was ready to risk his heart for them.

Mostly, he realized how grateful he was for Elias's friendship.

He just wished Elias could see himself as Killua saw him.

"You really earned that pizza, Elias."

* * *

 **A/N:** Woooh, some more Ellua bonding moment! I'm not gonna lie, Elias is one of my favorite OCs to write, and it's not just because he's a walking meme—he's deeply endearing to me. Now I know half the reason (or more like, uh, 100% the reason) his life is shit is my fault, since I literally created him, but hey :DDD (also, this is a tribute to all our friends who are so amazing but can't see it; you know who you are, and trust me, you are wonderful.)

Anyway! I hope you liked this chapter! It's 6 AM as I publish this and I did _not_ expect to take so much time editing this chapter, but hey, my writer brain just decided to rewrite a lot of stuff with new, better ideas, and my hands just followed :D So if you still find typos in there, just know it's not because I rushed the editing—it's actually because I spent so much editing I ended up rewriting and then editing the rewritten content. Feel free to point out mistakes if you see them—whether grammar or typo related, I could use some English lessons.

As always, feel free to leave your thoughts right below! Just, you know, tell me if you liked this chapter ;D If you're feeling shy, I take guest reviews, and if you're still shy, you can contact me privately or send me an anonymous ask on tumblr! My tumblr is **kigamin**. I also have a blog for Poisoned Amaryllis, called **poisonedamaryllis** (lol you didn't expect that, did you?), if you want a quieter space to send your asks (or a space related to the story). Be careful though, there is some nsfw content on that blog. Like, occasional boobs. Sometimes butts. You've been warned.

Alright, imma stop talking and go to sleep. Don't forget to review, and have a great day/night, friends!

Bye!


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